


All the King's Horses

by anno_Hreog



Series: The Solitudes [2]
Category: Thor (2011), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Hermaphrodites, Humor, M/M, Other, Sibling Incest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anno_Hreog/pseuds/anno_Hreog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after he fled Jotunheim, Loki comes home to Asgard and is met with the challenge of the Wall, and magic.</p><p>Part of the Jotunn Bastard AU - Loki is a half-jotunn bastard who was raised on Jotunheim - and sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/473864?view_full_work=true">Empty Pursuit</a>, five years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Gilded Cage

\-------

The wind changed through the apple blossoms in the orchard, and just like that Loki was back. 

He braced his feet against the truck of the apple tree and reached out to pluck a sprig of the heavenly blossoms. 

“Not all the flowers come to bear fruit,” a voice interrupted him, “but of the dozens of such buds, perhaps one will yield up a golden apple. It would be a waste if you denied them that chance.”

Loki paused, looking down at Idunn, who didn’t look very alarmed. Neither did she make any sudden move to call for the guards. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Loki jumped out of the tree. Idunn curled her hand through his arm and led him through the orchard to the swinging gate, where they sat on the low stone wall and looked up at the shining spires of the city crowned by leis of fluffy white clouds on an otherwise impossibly perfect day. 

She offered him an apple.

“For the likes of me?” he asked, and she smiled serenely back at him. 

“For a prince of Asgard, of course.”

“Loki, a prince of Asgard?” he said. “Not a thief and a scoundrel, a lying, cheating, shameless bastard of a troublemaker?”

“All that, yes, and much worse, I’m sure,” said Idunn, “but also a prince. Eat your apple, Loki. It will bring the color to your cheeks, and fill them out properly. You’re much too thin. Are you so unsure of your welcome here?”

He bit into the golden fruit, licking the juice as it trailed down his hand, and let it work its delirious magic on his body. Like golden spirits rushing through his veins, the apple breathed new life into him, and he ravenously chomped down on the precious fruit, eating up even the seeds at the core. Then he breathed out deeply, overwhelmed by a rush that felt almost orgasmic. 

Loki opened his eyes, and Idunn was grinning at him, pleased with her powers.

“I try not to take things for granted,” said Loki, gathering the vestiges of his dignity. “At least now I know my prison will befit my station. And here I was, dreaming up punishments so terrifying they would make children wake up in the night screaming.”

Idunn squeezed his arm. “A word of advice, Loki. If I were you, I would not look up good Theoric for old time’s sake. But then, I did not count myself as one of those who thought him so very dashing. Oh dear, please don’t run off to tell him I said that, would you?” 

It _was_ within the realm of probability to be so unquestioningly received back into the bosom of family, a family he had cut to the heart as soon as he’d discovered he belonged to them. But it surprised Loki nonetheless. 

In a corner of the private gardens, Odin looked up from sorting through a box of what looked like onions. 

“So, you’re back,” said the Allfather, sitting back on a cushion placed on the dirt, and gnawing on a cuticle. 

“Yes, _father_.”

“Son,” countered Odin with a nod, and fiddled with his bulbs. “Do you know anything about cultivating black tulips?” 

Loki was taken aback. Perhaps this was a riddle with a hidden meaning at the core. “Keep crossing dark purple strains until you get closer to black?”

“That is the general consensus, yes,” said Odin, “but just when I think I have it, the odd red flower keeps popping up.”

“Is that all you have to say to me? Tulips?”

The Allfather gazed up at his wayward son with a searching look on his face, as if he was the one trying to puzzle _Loki_ out. Then he shrugged. “Don’t be late for dinner,” he said finally, and went back to smelling a pinch of soil between his fingers. “Damp. Just a drop too damp for this time of year.”

At the palace, a suite of rooms were prepared for Loki by the queen, who insisted he call her mother. 

“I know you already have a mother,” said Frigga, “but if you will let me, I would like to be a mother to you as well.” 

From what he had read about the Aesir, as well as mortal halfthings, ‘mother’ seemed to connote a kinder, more nurturing being, and Loki had never thought of the Laufey-king that way.

“Of course, I would dare not try to take Queen Farbauti’s place in your affections, but, to be honest, I despise the term stepmother. Perhaps I am selfish that way,” said Frigga, misreading his frown, and Loki had to laugh and explain that, no, Laufey had given birth to him, but yes, the Farbauti-king would fit the bill as the evil stepmother. 

Then, Frigga took over.

A half-grown boy named Eric was presented as his personal servant, as well as a small troupe of servants who, he found over the next few days, would tend to innumerable small things before fading into the background. 

Frigga led him through the maze of chambers leading from one to another, an antechamber, a receiving room, a study, a bedroom, and two more whose purpose was completely lost on him, and a wardrobe where she had the servants open the cunningly hidden cabinets and closets to show him a dizzying array of casual, hunting, sparring, daily formal, and very official attire. He would be fitted for his ceremonial armor shortly. Frigga suggested he might like horns curving backward on his helmet. 

And then, there was a nook in a corner tower which seemed to be built from bricks of ice. 

“In case, you feel the heat of Asgard too much,” said Frigga. 

Loki frowned. “I am always too cold. Ever since I was a boy, I could never get enough heat,” he said. “None of the other jotunns were like this. I always thought there was something wrong with me. But the ice is in my veins.”

“I shall have the ice removed from the chamber, then.” 

“No, keep it. It will remind me of home. And….” He hesitated. “And the thought was kind. Why are you doing this? Why are you being so kind? What am I to you that you should treat me with kindness? I have done nothing to deserve it.” 

Frigga led him to sit down on the bed, and stroked his cheek. “You are our son now, Loki, and _this_ is your home. We want you to be happy here.”

“I am your son? The way _Thor_ is your son?” His voice didn’t quaver at the name, and he pretended it took no effort to say it. “The way Balder is?”

Frigga shook her head. “I did not give birth to Thor either, though I raised him as my very own. Balder, who is the son of my flesh, grew up not knowing his true parents, and came to us in maturity. You are a prince of Asgard as much as they are, and you are my son.”

“But what does that mean?” asked Loki. “A bastard jotunn half-breed, a prince of Asgard? Surely, you don’t consider me equal to your other shining sons.” He refrained from mentioning Thor by name this time.

“It does not matter,” said Frigga. “You are a son of Odin. As a prince of Asgard, you will have to live up to the position, of course. You will have your own duties, and take time to develop your own special gifts. I know you will make us proud, Loki. I have every faith in you.”

And just as easily, the machinery of the great throne of Asgard swallowed him up. It was a far cry from the outrage for which he had steeled himself. And it was far easier to accept, to sink back into the cushions and allow himself to be coddled by their soft Aesir ways. 

The fact of the matter was, Loki was tired. 

He’d broken his left ankle a few years back, and it still ached when he favored it. The old knife wound in his shoulder didn’t like being reminded of not having been healed properly by the new burns that flayed the skin off of there. And it had to be in that annoying spot he couldn’t reach with either hand. It wasn’t as if he could show his back to anyone for more than a second. Recently, he’d made a few too many enemies, erstwhile friends who’d not appreciated his sense of humor or questionable loyalty, who’d sooner fuck him up as well as fuck him.

And since that fateful day in Asgard, he hadn’t managed to turn fully jotunn without a great deal of pain. Loki missed his horns, though he didn’t dare show his face in Jotunheim, not just yet. The lines of Laufey’s house were gone from his jotunn skin.

In the end, there was only Asgard left. Loki had been willing to put up with a storm of angry words and perhaps a sound flogging in exchange for a quiet corner to rest his head, even if it was in prison. 

He hadn’t expected a seat at the high table. 

When he came down to dinner, Old Tyr dropped his goblet, and some of the grizzled beards muttered darkly. A few of the older matrons turned aside to whisper and titter, but Loki took his seat at Frigga’s left as if he had always belonged there, and after a moment, everyone else went on as if nothing was amiss. 

Frigga looked pleased, though she became a little strained at the mouth when Kvasir and Honir thumped the table and recalled the old campaign in Jotunheim. _They_ had expected this all along. _They_ wouldn’t be surprised if Odin got up and revealed a string of half-breed jotunn princelings from under his cloak. Anyway, there was peace with Jotunheim now. Those blue-skinned bastards weren’t so bad. 

Loki scowled into his cups, but after five years out in the Realms, he wouldn’t turn his nose up at a good square meal. He took third helpings of everything.

 

The first week went by in a harmonious flow as Loki adjusted himself to this new ease and abundance. The healers clucked their tongues over old scar tissue and badly knit bones and worked him over until his body was a blank slate again, bland and perfect as anything in the golden city. He felt a brief pang of loss at being erased like this, but he wouldn’t miss the pain. Once fastidious to a fault, he found that a layer of grime seemed to have sunk deep into his skin, and it took five steam baths before he felt clean again.

And Loki learned again how to be a member of a royal family. 

To stand still as servants dressed and undressed him like a doll; to be present for meals that were little short of public performances; to pretend to be interested in polite conversation with bores he scarcely knew; to accept gifts from different quarters, with none of the childish joy he had once taken in them, and grant favors and process petitions according to their worth; and to sit a step down from the Allfather in the great hall and listen to the endless line of complaints and grievances from the people. 

He remembered how to hold his breath, breathe shallow, and mince his steps like a cat walking through a ballroom littered with broken glass. 

If Jotunheim had pushed him aside to observe only from the shadows, Asgard brought him to the center and strapped him down tightly to the machinery of rule. Idly, Loki wondered which of the two was the sturdier prison. 

There had to be more than this, more than the many petty duties that filled up his hours, more than feeling sifted finely through a tea strainer. Yet, the secret of what would make him a true prince, and a worthy prince of Asgard at that, eluded him. So, he went through the motions and held his tongue. 

Then, Thor returned from the house in the country where he had been visiting the jotunn Jarnsaxa. After all, it _had_ been five years.

\-------

Though he was itching for a good drawn-out brawl, Loki had taken to avoiding the sparring rings.

The Einherhar were not so forgiving as the queen, and then there were Thor’s friends, the enormous red-bearded man, the grim silent one, and the woman. All that dislike made him twitchy.

So instead, he wandered off again through the grounds beyond the formal gardens, where the woods spilled over into a patch of wilderness. 

He kicked off his boots first, remembering with smile how he had dreamed of walking barefoot on grass when he was a boy in Jotunheim. Even after all these years, the green light slanting through a cathedral of boughs made his breath catch, as if he was setting foot on hallowed ground. 

He was tugging open the collar of his stiff high-necked tunic and his elbow was caught in the sleeve of the coat as he was pulling it off, when he heard a burble of laughter.

“Shhh, dearest, if we don’t disturb him, perhaps he will continue to disrobe,” came a woman’s voice, with another giggle and a rustle from behind a growth of azaleas. 

“Quiet, sis, he’s heard us. He’s coming this way, lie still and perhaps he won’t see, no, no, dash it, he’s found us,” said the man, and making no move to lower his voice or hide himself, he smiled up at Loki from a bed of ferns, propped up on one elbow. “Didn’t I see you last night at dinner, little jotunn? You were hogging the pickled eel like some starving beggar.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Loki, priming for a fight. The man looked vaguely familiar, but his manner was more than that, bordering on insolence. “Did I use the fish fork for the roast boar? Did that hurt your finer feelings? Who the hel are you?”

“Don’t be rude, Frey,” said his sister, and the goddess Freyja rose from the buttercups where she’d lain entwined with her brother. Her long red hair spilled over her breasts in glossy curls, which did more to hide her figure than the thin white shift she wore, seemingly as an afterthought. Wrapping her plump brown arms around Loki, she plucked at the buttons on his tunic. Teeth bared, he swatted her fingers away.

“See, dearest? He still has a spark of spirit left. Asgard hasn’t whipped it out of him completely.”

“I don’t see much of that vaunted spirit.” said Frey. “All I see is a prim little boy, afraid of getting his clothes dirty.” Unlike his sister, Frey didn’t bother with clothing. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind a turn at that whip. There’s nothing prettier than a screaming jotunn, especially when you’re fucking him.”

Frey leapt up, and he and Loki circled each other snarling. Loki was taller than him by a hair, but Frey was solid, well-fed and well-built, and his arms were thicker than Loki’s thighs. Loki ducked, reaching for his knife, and grasped at air – he’d thrown off his belt along with his boots. Less than a fortnight of this spoiled easy life, and he was getting sloppy. In that half-second of a pause, Frey lunged and threw him to the ground, knocking the breath out of his lungs. Frey pressed his big toe down on Loki’s windpipe, and grinned.

“Too easy,” said Frey. “Shall I put this one on his belly and take his arse, sis? Would you like to see that?”

“Hush, love,” said Freyja, pulling him away. “He’s just a baby. Don’t be mean, or nobody will want to sleep with you.” 

“Who said anything about sleeping?” But Frey relented and held out a hand to help Loki up, laughing when Loki slapped it out of the way.

Freyja wandered down the woodland slope, humming and trailing her hands over the bark of pale birches. “The sun’s too hot, and I’m all sticky now. I feel like a swim. Are you coming, Loki? Don’t mind my brother. He doesn’t bite.”

“Not even if you ask nicely,” said Frey, and he grabbed Loki by the arm and dragged him, slipping down a dirt path down to the stream. He let go at the bank, or Loki yanked it out of his grip, and with a joyful yodel, Frey jumped into the water like a cannonball, making a terrific splash all over his sister. 

She splashed him back, and for a while they played like happy children, the water sloshing around them. Freyja’s cotton shift clung wetly to her ample curves, dark where her nipples and her snatch showed through. She smiled beatifically at Loki, who had climbed atop a flat of a boulder and pulled his knees to his chin primly, not quite feeling left out, but not wanting to walk off just yet. 

“Come join us, Loki. The water feels wonderful!” 

“You can even keep your clothes on, baby,” said Frey smirking, and Freyja dunked him under water. “Behave, love, or he won’t like us.”

Loki shook his head. 

“I’m afraid water doesn’t agree with me.” He’d tried swimming when he’d first walked away from Jotunheim, and had found it wasn’t as fun as books made it out to be. It made him dizzy. 

Freyja laughed and splashed more water around her as Frey swam on his back, hands folded over his stomach like an otter. His dark red pubes floated around his prick like a sentient orchid.

“That’s because you’re fighting it,” said Freyja. “At first the water pulls against seið, and it feels like the tide will drag you under. But you have to swim with the current, Loki. Let the water and the seið flow through you. Lose yourself in them, let go. It’s not a weakness when giving in will give you strength.” 

Freyja let herself fall back, and as her head hit the water, she became a red leaf bobbing on the surface. When Frey cupped the leaf in his hands, she turned into a little silver minnow and dove back into the stream, almost indistinguishable from the flashes of light glinting on the water. 

The minnow followed the rush of water down to the dip in the stream, and just when Loki thought he had lost sight of her, she turned into a salmon, and with a powerful leap, she flapped up, against the force of the current and made her way back. Then, rising from the water, dripping, she was Freyja again.

“How did you do that?” gasped Loki, and laughing, Frey came up from behind his sister and draped his arms around her soft stomach, one hand slyly sliding up to play with her breasts. “Yes, how _did_ you do that, you wicked little witch? Come into the water and find out, little jotunn.” 

Freyja slipped out of her brother’s embrace, wriggling her hips just enough to make him groan, and held out her hand to Loki. “Yes, come into the water, Loki. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid,” said Loki sharply, and bowed his head with a softer tone. “I am more familiar with smoke, and I can vanish when I need to. But I’ve not managed to make myself into another form.”

“Perhaps you have found smoke more natural because you’ve found the need to flee too often,” said Freyja. “Disappearing comes easier to you. But water is fluid. It can be air and liquid and solid, and it is the best place to start.”

“I’m not too fond of it.” 

But Loki was already pulling his tunic over his head, and then his breeches, and with a second’s hesitation, he removed his smallclothes. No amount of sloppy Vanir groping was going to make him act like some scandalized nun. Gingerly, he dipped his toe in the stream, and waded his way into the stream. 

The water was cool, and he shivered as he felt it tap into his seið and tug at the strands that lay dormant. As before, he felt faint in running water. It was different from the baths. There, somehow his body knew that the water was still, contained. But out here, he knew he was faced with a living thing, a monstrous snake that would rush right through him and it would be the end.

He must have fallen in. He wasn’t conscious of it. 

The water closed over his head and sapped him of the strength to struggle. His arms at his sides were dead things. He was helpless as it took him apart and overwhelmed him. The water would bear him off in a million little pieces, and he would be nothing. The roar of silence filled his ears, and his lungs burned.

He thought he heard a voice cutting through the din. “You poor thing. But you’re broken, aren’t you? Where do you belong?” 

But there was light ahead, and he let go, let the current carry him into it. There was a glimpse, as he floated along, of being part of something greater if only he could let go of this small, selfish thing that was Loki.

When Loki came to, he was trapped between the two Vanir. Freyja was trying to revive him, it seemed, by breathing life in through his lips. He jerked his head back in surprise, and knocked Frey hard on the chin. 

“Ow, easy there, little jotuun. I didn’t know you liked me that way.” 

Scowling, Loki tried to pull free, but Frey held him tight in those rather impressive arms, and was rubbing circles into his skin. “Keep struggling, princess, it’s turning me on,” said Frey. “Let’s keep this one, sis. He’s starting to grow on me. He’s so… _dainty._ ”

“I’m just as tall as you are,” said Loki, feeling ridiculous that he had to resort to this level, and elbowed Frey in the ribs to break loose.

“For a jotunn, you’re a charming little morsel,” said Frey. “And I should know. I married one.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Frey,” said Freyja. “And stop goading him. He’s only trying to keep your blood going, Loki.” She sat up and touched his cheek gently. “You did very well. You were close to the source, weren’t you?”

“There was a light, and it seemed to call me into it,” said Loki. “Is that seið?”

“We all see it differently, but yes. Once you let go completely, you will be able to make yourself again. But you have to lose yourself first. You’ve come far for someone who’s self-taught.”

Freyja was soft the way no jotunn was, but gentle in a way that reminded him of Helblindi, and Loki let her run her long plump fingers over his stomach. “But you were taught,” he said. “You were trained properly in the ways of seið.”

“She’s the weirdest of all the far-seeing sisters, darling. Will you whisk him away to your bower, sis, and whisper witchy little secrets in his ear? Can I watch?”

Loki ignored him, and got up to retrieve his clothes. “But working in seið is looked down upon by the Aesir, and set aside as the purview of women.”

“But you don’t hold with that, do you, little ice princess?” said Frey. He lay back on the grass and leered, as if Loki putting on his clothing was a more lascivious sight than his taking them off. “Man, woman, it’s all halfthing nonsense to you jotunns, isn’t it? These Aesir,” spat Frey. “They think they’re so high-minded, so moral, with all their uptight rules. Don’t do the girly magics. Don’t get fucked in the arse. Don’t fuck your sister. Don’t fuck the goats. That was an improper use of octopus. No wonder they look pissed off half the time. They can’t get any without pulling out their little rulebook to check if it’s not _forbidden_.” 

Freyja smiled at her brother. “Not all of them, dearest. But we need not abide by all the rules of the Aesir, Loki. We need not embrace them at the expense of our true hearts. You are not the only captive prince in this court. You will learn to choose what is important to you.” 

Her eyes had grown fond and hazy, and her brother came over to her on all fours and she leaned over to kiss him. But before he could grapple with her again, Freyja grabbed her brown and white speckled cloak, _and_ Loki’s hand, and they took off running. 

“What are we –?” She threw the feathered cloak over his shoulders, and they fell off the hillside, but when they soared back up, they were not Loki and Freyja, but two brown falcons with speckled bellies. 

Falling into the sky was not so different from falling into the water, but here, he slowly gained control of his wings, to shift them to change direction in the air and rise and fall and glide. It wasn’t flying so much as riding the wind and losing himself in the motion itself. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a screech that resounded down in the valley. A pair of riders on the road looked up and pointed. 

There were no words, and for a second, his mind – the mind of a falcon – tried to remember his name, and he broke out of trance. 

With a sudden sharp panic, his wings faltered, shifting back into arms even under the falcon cloak. Falling, and then panicking some more didn’t help turn his arms back into wings, and Loki plummeted. 

The cloak flapped behind him as he spiraled downward, and he gathered his wits desperately to turn to smoke before he dashed his brains on the ground. 

Again that day, he felt Freyja’s arms around him, half-feathered this time, and though their form could not bear flight, she slowed down his fall somewhat in a gradual curve. 

Loki hit the ground first with his shoulder – it was the bad one, only just mended; the healers would not be pleased – and they went rolling, tearing up patches of grass until they came to a stop in the underbrush. 

The world stopped spinning, though it took longer before the dizzy motion in his head stopped, and he felt a dozen different places where he was stuck with broken twigs like a pincushion. But not on his stomach.

Crushed beneath him, her thin cotton shift tattered to shreds, Freyja was breathless with laughter, and the strange soft things that were her breasts wobbled under him. With a yelp, he was toppled off as she rolled them over again and came out on top. 

“Not too bad for a beginner,” said Freyja, leaning down to wipe the blood off his lip. “Next time, fall better.”

“I didn’t mean to fall at all,” said Loki rather helplessly, and he had to laugh because she was laughing, and because he had been a falcon, a creature of wind and air and boundless freedom, and it had been so brilliant, and he took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, Freyja’s long hair falling forward to veil them like a curtain. 

There was someone awkwardly clearing his throat over the top of the bushes, but Loki didn’t care. Frey could eat his heart out. 

But it wasn’t Frey. With the wingspan of falcons, they had come farther away from the palace grounds than he had thought, and two riders were looking grimly down at them from their horses. 

Hurriedly, Loki got up and covered Freyja’s nearly naked body with the feathered cloak. And he managed a crooked grin at his Aesir brothers. 

“This really isn’t what it looks like,” he tried to explain, and Freyja smothered a giggle behind her hand at the look on Balder’s face. Balder was square of jaw and still just as good-looking as Loki remembered, but red really wasn’t his color, especially not the way it stained his face all the way up to the roots of his snowy hair. 

Thor didn’t spare a look his way, but held out his hand to Freyja.

“My lady, if you would like a ride back to the castle? The road is dusty, and,” said Thor, with a small smile and a bow, “you seem to have misplaced your shoes.”

Freyja bowed back, but her smile turned impish. 

“I’d rather ride with Prince Balder,” she said, holding out her arms to be swung up on his saddle. “But I have a friend who would appreciate your offer, Thor.” And she kicked the spurs to Balder’s horse herself before any of them could protest. 

They listened to the sound of hooves fading in the distance, and Loki raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun glinting off Thor’s helmet. The silence dragged on. Murderously, it felt. 

Thor’s face was in shadow and he didn’t deign to speak, letting his disdain beat down as inexorably as the heat. 

Loki swallowed hard and turned away. 

“You know, it’s a fine day and I’d rather walk,” he said tightly, and started down the road putting an extra spring in his step. He’d left his boots behind – he remembered – in the wildwood by the stream, and the gravel was sharp under his soles. 

Behind him, Thor pulled up his horse sharply. 

“Suit yourself,” he said, and rode on ahead without a second glance.

\-------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fox made wonderful fanart with [Loki, Freyja and Frey](http://fangirl-4-snape.deviantart.com/#/d5gbu0v), which I thought would go nicely at the end of this chapter. Isn't fandom amazing?


	2. A True Prince of Asgard

That week the air in the palace of Gladsheim became stifling and steadily unbearable. 

Thor stalked the halls with a scowl on his face that did not bode well for anyone who crossed his path, and Loki… well, Loki fell back on his old Jotnar manners, chilly and evasive as an affronted cat. He’d taken to turning his face ever so slightly away if Thor was in the vicinity. 

“There’s a distinct _odor_ that has seeped in,” Loki would say, to no one in particular. “Not exactly a bad smell, no. But _something_.” And he would rise bonelessly from wherever he was seated and leave the room.

The first dinner with the two of them was a nightmare. Feeling the tension, Tyr and Honir got progressively louder with their forced joviality, while Frey made sly jabs about their sexual proclivities just because he could and no one would stop him. No one dared break the bubble of mounting violence. Volstagg left the table early complaining of indigestion, and the next morning, fewer lords than in recent memory came down to breakfast. Loki sat at Frigga’s left, primly dissecting his apricot into tiny little pieces, and at Odin’s right, Thor glowered straight ahead, his eyelid twitching. 

It felt as if the palace was stuck inside a storm cloud, one growing darker and heavier and crackling with electricity, but not quite bursting into a storm, not just yet.

It was up to Balder to pop that bubble. He was, after all, their brother. The good one.

He invited them both to his chambers for tea and biscuits. No mead, no ale, no spirits of any sort. Loki arrived early and helped himself to a lemon biscuit. He liked dunking them in his tea, and frowned as a piece crumbled and sank to the bottom of his cup. 

“Something is rattling at your door, brother,” he said to Balder. “Perhaps some animal is trying to get in. We should bar the windows.”

With a sigh, Balder waved at Thor to come in, and Thor stalked into the room and threw himself into the other chair, putting Balder and the tea trolley solidly between him and Loki. 

“Tea?” said Loki, lifting the silver pot in his direction, and Thor did not exactly growl. 

“Look,” said Balder. “I’ve had just about enough of this. Everyone’s tiptoeing around the two of you, and you’re making them very uncomfortable. I know there’s some difficult history between the two of you, but it’s over now. Whatever either of you think the other did, just say sorry and make up, will you? Nothing too nitpicky. That’ll just make you angrier again. How about a general amnesty? Wouldn’t you like that better?”

“I would like another biscuit,” said Loki, and Balder slid the gold edged plate closer to him. Thor just snorted.

“Just forgive each other, or give each other a good drubbing and move on,” said Balder, exasperated. “We can’t live like this. We’re _brothers_. We may not like each other all the time, but we have to get along. For our own sakes. And for Mother and Father, and everyone else, too. Did you forget you are _princes_ of the realm? Do you really want to keep up this ridiculous feud in front of everyone? Couldn’t you at least _pretend_ you like each other for a while? Or just tolerate each other? Please?”

Loki took a sip of his tea, and put his cup carefully down on the saucer.

“What was your name again?” he asked sweetly, and Thor didn’t even bother with snorting this time.

“ _Balder_ ,” said Balder, through clenched teeth. “Your brother _Balder._ I don’t see why everyone keeps forgetting about me. It’s not as if I’m _invisible._ ”

“Oh yes, Balder. My brother Balder.” Loki blinked rapidly, and made a mock woeful face. “You’re not, by any chance, the one I fucked, are you? I can’t quite remember.”

“No!” yelped Balder, and he was turning that unfortunate shade of red again. Thor had already kicked his chair out of the way and stomped out of the room. 

Loki hummed, and stirring his scalding tea with his bony finger, sucked on it indolently. 

“Oh dear. I seem to have upset him somehow. Touchy fellow, isn’t he?” Then he smiled at Balder again. “This wasn’t an elaborate way of making some sort of veiled complaint, was it? Because if you felt unfairly left out, we _could_ arrange something – ”

“No!” said Balder, not knowing if he should run after Thor or sit down and give Loki a proper scolding.

“Good,” said Loki. “Because you might have to process the proper paperwork with my staff, and I’d rather not embarrass them at present. More tea?”

\-------

So, that did little to clear the air, although Balder seemed to think that because he’d opened himself up for some mild abuse from Loki, that he and Loki were on familiar terms now. That boy wasn’t right in the head. Loki would do something about it if that kind of dog-like trust didn’t come in so handy.

What did change was that Loki started frequenting the places he’d avoided because he’d felt skittish and unwanted. _They_ could leave if they wanted to. This was supposed to be _his_ home now. 

Which was why Loki found himself weighing a staff in one hand and walking onto the training grounds. The silent, dark-haired fellow was there, one of Thor’s companions. Hogun, his name was, and his nod of greeting wasn’t so grim when Loki entered the sparring ring. 

“You won’t hold back on me, will you?” Loki asked, “because I’m your _prince_?” 

Hogun’s eyes were twinkling. “I’ll beat you like a mad dog,” he said.

“It’s a promise, then.”

Hogun’s moves were steady and precise, and Loki was warming up with glee. He’d missed a good workout, keeping his reflexes alert, and his body was tingling with energy. He had just gotten into the rhythm of this particular dance, blocking and pressing forth, and swerving out of the way, when the wind changed. 

Storm weather. 

Around the ring, they, and all lookers-on turned around to see Thor walk into the ring. 

“Out,” he said, and Hogun raised his brow at the peremptory demand, but didn’t argue. No one argued when Thor’s face was like that. No one but mad men.

“But, brother,” Loki called out cheerfully, “the good Hogun the Grim has not finished with this fight. If you wish to administer a beating, you will have to wait your turn. Or perhaps Hogun will best me, and you can take your nasty little temper tantrum out on him.”

“It’s my turn,” said Thor, throwing aside Mjölnir. “It has been my turn for five years.”

“Are you _still_ harping on that –”

Loki didn’t have time to finish as Thor threw himself at him. 

After that it was a fury of strength against speed. Thor was not merely brute strength, but years of focused training, in single combat, with multiple opponents, through the chaos of the battlefield. His battle reflexes were honed to a tripwire, and Loki exulted in the challenge, dancing around him like the seven-tailed wind, dodging out of Thor’s reach by a hair, swerving, jumping, kicking him out from under his feet, only to tumble out of his way just in the nick of time.

They had amassed a quite a crowd around them, warriors, guardsmen, all manner of servants who had been going about their tasks. Bets were being placed on how long this fight would last, and even on who would win, and it was to Loki’s credit that the odds against him were not ridiculously high. He was surprised to hear a cheer go up when he twisted out of Thor’s grip and threw him to the ground instead. Even in Asgard, there was a sneaking sympathy for the underdog. 

But he was tiring. 

The fight had gone on for over an hour, almost two, and the sky was darkening, not from the setting of the sun, but from the storm clouds that had piled up during the course of the fight, grey and menacing overhead. 

Thor caught him off guard, and without thinking, Loki vanished, only to reappear three feet behind Thor.

The booing and jeering from the crowd was drowned in a howl of fury from Thor, and he charged upon Loki like a wounded beast. 

Loki winked out again, this time appearing barely an arms’ length away. He ducked to avoid the swing of Thor’s fist. The sky was black with rage now, and lightning split across it followed close by thunder that shook Gladsheim down to its foundations. Half the crowd had dispersed, running for cover or for help, but the other half were rooted to their places, watching the devastating spectacle with bated breath as Thor stalked Loki across the entire scope of the training grounds. 

When a stone bench was pulled up and came whizzing past him, it was too late. Thor was caught up in berserker rage, and the flagstones were slippery with mud as the bullets of the storm pelted down on them. 

Exhausted, Loki vanished, barely in control of his own shifting form. When something crashed into his side, he thought he’d lost hold of his core and disintegrated into the elements. But he was knocked to the ground, still whole. The faint cheer from the remaining crowd quickly died as Thor caught up with him, and he was slammed over and over again into a broken pillar. Someone cried out, and vaguely, he registered a body or two throwing themselves on Thor, only to be thrown aside just as easily.

The pain was still sharp a dozen times later, and it did not dull as Loki felt his collarbone shatter and his skull crack, and his vision started to stain over a peaceful red. He wondered if he was reverting back to jotunn form again, and if this meant he could go home to Jotunheim now. 

For the longest time during his wanderings, he had feared he might be knifed in a nondescript alley somewhere and die unknown and forgotten. As he sank into a comforting darkness, Loki was strangely relieved that it would be here, and that this face would be that last thing he saw. He reached up to brush his fingers against that cheek, and murmured, “Thor, you’re hurting me.”

And just as abruptly the blows stopped. But the world had softened to black and he saw and heard nothing.

\-------

Loki awoke to the sound of a scuffle.

A cool hand gently pressed down on his forehead to keep him from rising, but the face that looked down at him wasn’t jotunn. The healer was female – he was getting better at telling them apart, though it was easier with the more mature women, especially those who had given birth. This one was younger, barely out of boyhood – girlhood? – though her worried expression made her seem younger. 

“How long?” he rasped, and she held a bowl of ice-cold water to his lips. 

“Three days,” she said, with an apologetic shrug. “You were in and out half the time. You seemed to be awake sometimes, though we couldn’t be sure if you were conscious. It’s the, ah, …” 

“The jotunn difference?” he said, and her cheeks went pinkish. Not that miserable beet red of Balder’s, but pretty, like the stained heart of a blossom. “Your name is Sigyn. The queen… my, ah, _mother_ was here,” he said with effort, and frowned. “My father wasn’t.” 

“Yes,” she said. “Though Prince Balder and the Lady Freyja came to look in on you often. The queen sent for a jotunn healer. We were lucky she – he? – arrived so quickly.”

“A jotunn? Here?” Loki tried to get up, and felt the twinge in his ribs, and sank down again. The dull ache pressed down on his lungs and made it hard to breathe. 

“Don’t,” said Sigyn. “Jarnsaxa said you’ll heal perfectly in a few more days, three or four at most, but the adjustments of the healing stones to your Aesir-Jotnar physiology will take some careful calibrations. We’re working on it.”

“You’ve an acute mind,” he said, grinning at her. “Perhaps I should get injured more often to add to your store of knowledge.”

“No, please don’t,” said Sigyn quickly, going deeper pink. He’d have to ask Balder about that. 

In vain, he cast his eyes around for the jotunn, and found no one else. He was lying in a secluded chamber in the healing rooms, with only Sigyn feeding him ice chips until he shook his head. All this burnished gold was oppressive and carved starbursts on the ceiling looked as if they would fall down upon him. Growing light-headed, Loki sank back into his pillow. Outside the scuffle grew louder, and someone burst in through the door. 

Predictably, it was Thor.

“Hello, prince,” said Loki, smothering a faint smile. “Come to finish me off?”

Sigyn was alarmed. “My lord, please, you must remain outside –”

“I refuse to put up with more of your prevarications –”

“My lord, you are disturbing my patient.”

Thor turned his most ominous glare her way, and to her credit, Sigyn didn’t back down. 

“Why don’t you see what the jotunn healer is up to, sweetling?” said Loki to Sigyn. “I would speak to my brother alone.” At the apprehensive look on Sigyn’s face, he winked at her. “If you could beg gentle Idunn for one of those lovely apples, I would be in your debt. In case my brother tries to murder me again…”

“I didn’t try to _murder_ you –”

“Oh, hush, Thor, I know,” snapped Loki. “If you were trying, I’d be properly dead by now, not just half dead.”

“There is no debt. It is my duty,” said Sigyn, barely hiding her disapproval at Thor, but she left them.

Loki waited until the door closed silently shut behind her, and shook his head. These stuffy Aesir. He could barely see the crease in the wall. It looked as if they were hermetically sealed inside a gold jar.

“You look like some animal that’s misbehaved on the carpet,” said Loki. “Not quite befitting a prince of Asgard, Thor.”

With a weary sigh, Thor came and slumped down on the floor next to his bed, and Loki slowly settled on his stomach and hummed into his pillow. It was a scrap of a jotunn song from childhood, and it brought to mind safe arms and rocking, but he couldn’t remember who had sung it to him. His earliest memory of the Laufey-king was after he could manage to walk without falling too much.

He felt some of the tension leave Thor’s shoulders as he leaned back against the pallet, and absently Loki threaded his fingers through Thor’s hair.

“Your hair’s gotten longer,” he said quietly.

“I’ve just had it trimmed.” 

“I like it.” 

Thor gave a hollow laugh, laced with a bitterness that had not been there before, and swept up with emotion Loki threw his arm around Thor’s neck and breathed in deep. “I’ve missed you,” he muttered into Thor’s hair. The smell of his skin, the way it breathed, the way thunder and storms danced on the surface, he’d missed this so.

But Thor only sighed again. After a long pause, it was Thor who pulled away to turn and look at him with that unbearable honesty in his blue eyes. 

“No, you were right. I could have killed you,” he said solemnly, laden with guilt, and Loki wanted to shake him.

“But you _didn’t_. I’m fine now, so what does it matter?”

“You said I tried to murder you, and it was true!” said Thor.

“And I said it was fine! Why must you be so contrary?”

“I?! _I_ am the contrary one, now?!” Thor made a strangled noise and sat straight up to glare at Loki. “You preposterous rogue, do you know what torments you put me through?! Because you had to be so… _contrary?_ Because you couldn’t bear to be predictable?” He stopped himself short and fumed, looking so angry and refreshingly self-righteous that Loki had to laugh, and pulled him close.

“And you promised you’d punish me,” he said, making room for Thor on the bed. But turning on his side was too much effort, and he fell onto his back, his breath labored. He stared up at the ceiling, and red and green spots flashed across his vision. “Perhaps, after I’ve recovered….” 

The bed sank under Thor’s weight as he sat down, and gently Thor pulled the coverlet up as if he was tucking in a child. 

“I _am_ sorry about what happened. I shouldn’t have let the berserker slip like that.” 

Loki waved it off. “You brute. You’re just a monster inside, aren’t you?” and instantly regretted his words when Thor flinched.

“The berserker is my gift,” said Thor. “And my curse. It was never meant to be loosed on you. It was never meant to be unleashed outside of battle and never personally at that.”

“You were born a prince, and you were made to be a tool?” 

“At times of war, a warrior is as much a weapon as his sword, and the berserker inside me is as great a weapon as Mjölnir,” said Thor sadly. “But in times of peace, it must remain inside me. I thought I could control myself. But I couldn’t, not with you.”

“But you did,” Loki insisted. “You stopped. I had only to say and you stopped.”

Thor’s hand was gentle, and Loki leaned his face into it. “You are too forgiving.”

“No one’s ever said that about me before,” said Loki with a smirk. “Perhaps I am only hiding my grudges, to pay you back when you least expect it.”

Thor shouldn’t be looking at him so fondly or so sadly, so full of regrets, and it made him itchy. 

“Help me get up. I’m sick of lying about,” he said, leaning on Thor heavily as he swung his feet over the side of the bed. His vision blacked out for less than a second this time, and he smiled brightly at Thor. “Do you think, if we were brothers, we would have cabinets full of score cards by now, detailing who won which little game and contest, constantly trying to one-up each other? Wouldn’t that have been fun?” 

“We _are_ brothers. Even if we didn’t grow up together. We must try to be more considerate of each other from now on,” said Thor in his deep rumbling voice, and Loki leaned into him some more to feel the vibrations. 

“Don’t,” he said, snickering. “You sound like Balder. I may retch.” 

“You don’t care for Balder the Good?” Thor sounded amused, and when he did, his great chest felt luxurious. “And I thought you were getting to be such good friends. So close, so caring. Never were there such devoted brothers. One might think there was more between you two.”

Loki made a face at him. “Stop that. He’s my _brother_. That’s disgusting.”

“Your brother. Is that so?” Thor snorted. “And what am I? A lamp post?”

“Yes. The very best of lamp posts,” said Loki, winding his arms around Thor’s neck. “The god of most magnificent of lamp posts. If I were a dog I would come by every day to p–”

“Stop. Don’t finish that. Don’t you dare finish that sentence –” 

“—pay my respects.”

Thor was laughing, and Loki didn’t care if his ribs ached or if his guts were going to spill out because he had Thor back, and Thor’s laughter was tickling his lip, and Loki knew he would have to kiss him now or his heart would stop –

The hidden door opened, and a jotunn entered the healing chamber. Thor jerked away, and with a sudden formality in his manner, settled Loki back on the bed. “I am relieved to see you are mending, brother.” 

Loki looked from him to this jotunn, stunned, and the jotunn gazed back at him serenely. In the end, it was Thor who was the most discomfited. 

“Did you bring the babe?” he asked the jotunn.

“Magni is with the queen, if you wish to see him.”

“Of course I will see him,” said Thor sharply, and then caressed the jotunn’s arm by way of apology. “Thank you for looking after my brother.”

After that, he seemed to be at a loss for words, and after staring at various parts of the floor, he gave an almost military nod to Loki and rushed out of the chamber. 

Loki sat up against the pillows and watched as the jotunn healer measured out foul and familiar smelling roots and ground each into fine powders, and whisked them into a unctuous liquid that smelled even worse. So this was Jarnsaxa.

Jarnsaxa was taller than Loki by a good foot and perfectly proportioned, his muscles lean but well-defined with that sleek look that generations of living among the more prosperous Aesir had given him, none of the hungry, rapacious air that clung to native Jotnar. He wore no Aesir glamour over his well-cared-for jotunn hide, which gleamed like buttery soft lizard skin. And he had horns, too, lovely, twisted horns that swept back from his temples in an elegant curve that took Loki’s breath away. He was perfect, the most perfect jotunn Loki had ever seen. 

Beside him, Loki felt a scrawny, half-grown boy with awkward spindly limbs and bony knees and raw scuffed knuckles. And his horns… _his_ horns were broken. He had never managed to grow them back. 

“Sit back and drink this first,” said Jarnsaxa, and Loki gulped down the bitter mixture, willing himself not to choke. 

“How long has it been in your Aesir skin?” the other jotunn asked, and Loki shrugged off one shoulder. 

“A while,” he said carelessly. “It draws less attention out in the real world.”

“Can you turn fully jotunn at all? How long will you hide in this weak Aesir flesh?” demanded Jarnsaxa, and Loki snarled at him. 

“I didn’t think so,” said Jarnsaxa. “You’ve buried an old injury deep inside, and you’ve only grown more lies to cover it. Otherwise you would have no need for Aesir stones and poultices. You should have healed yourself long before now.”

“Don’t blame me for your lack of skill,” said Loki. “Do the Aesir think you some great expert, just because you’re jotunn? Better charlatans than you have been exposed before Laufey’s court and whipped for their impudence.”

“Perhaps you should pay a visit home, then,” said Jarnsaxa evenly. “Though I shall not ask why Laufey’s son does not bear the lines of Laufey’s house. In any case, the core of the hurt is beyond my skill, and it has festered and grown rotten.”

“Say what you will, but I feel fine,” said Loki.

“I did not mention it to the Aesir because it is not any of their business, but this is serious.” Jarnsaxa loomed over him by the bed, and Loki pulled away as Jarnsaxa tried to place his hand on his stomach.

“Don’t touch me!”

“I am your healer,” said Jarnsaxa patiently. “Did you do this to yourself? How could you be so careless?”

“Do what?” demanded Loki, but he was afraid. “What is it I’m supposed to have done now?"

“There are traces of seið, dark and very powerful, torn from your flesh, and in leaving it has not been kind. It’s left your core twisted and ruined in its wake. You’ve burned yourself out with poisoned seið, Loki of Jotunheim.”

“I did not give you leave to use my name,” he said, but he pulled up his knees to his chin, frightened. 

He had experimented with seið, yes, but it had been nothing serious, nothing that touched him truly. Walking through the realms, he had pulled magic from dark matter and sacrifices, and – he felt a twinge of fear again – from his own desperate desire to escape and roam free. Was it his dream that would drag him down in the end? Hold him down, crippled and weak?

But then, he remembered Laufey’s ancient magic, and the claim of Jotunheim he had burned out of his skin with the power of the Casket, and he shivered. 

“Am I dying?” he asked.

“No, but you have scoured your body barren.” Jarnsaxa shook his head. “There will be no children from your womb. I am sorry.” 

Loki had to laugh – it was so pointless – pushing down a unexpected lurch of hysteria. If anything Jarnsaxa looked even more compassionate, and Loki wanted to smack that look off his face. But it would not do to assault Thor’s lover for no reason he’d care to mention.

“Is that all? Spare me your pity,” he sneered. “It was never my wish to spawn brats like some mindless cow. I am well enough to function?”

Jarnsaxa sighed. “Your Aesir form will compensate. Even now, it is strong enough to take over your jotunn weaknesses. In time, it will become the dominant form, and your jotunn traits might recede completely. I am no expert. This is too complicated, and I have little understanding of your brand of seið.”

Loki swallowed hard. Would he become a halfthing then, stuck as either male or female, incomplete and lacking for the rest of his life? Was he forever barred from going home to Jotunheim? He steeled himself and made his face blank. 

“I am your prince, both of Asgard and of Jotunheim. You will speak of this to no one.”

Jarnsaxa bowed slightly. “I am your healer. I would not have spoken of it regardless.”

“Good. Now help me up. I’ve had enough of this Aesir coddling.”

He took a petty satisfaction in pushing Jarnsaxa down to rise from the bed, and Jarnsaxa crossed the room quickly to open the door for him. 

Loki carefully made his way out. Whether it was the mixture or old stubborn pride, he felt a shot of energy burning through him. He felt his strength returning, and he would throw himself from the window before he wobbled or clung to this hatefully flawless jotunn. 

The main healing chambers were tranquil and Jarnsaxa went over to confer with an Aesir healer, and they discussed professional matters, Jarnsaxa glancing over his way to keep an eye on him. What did he think Loki would do? Fall and have a fainting fit?

As if she had been waiting for him, Sigyn skipped up to him and slipped Loki an apple. Her face went pinkish again when Loki turned to smile at the young woman and give her his full attention. Well, at least to the Aesir, he was still hale and desirable. Or was it his weakness that appealed to her? 

Over the gentle strands of a harp, the sound of laughter and playing carried through one of the open windows. It looked out upon a courtyard, and Loki saw the queen. 

But she wasn’t the one who grabbed his attention. Frigga sat next to a fountain, and she was clapping her hands at a toddler who was taking his abrupt steps toward her. Behind the child, Thor laughed, his hands braced on his knees, urging the child on. 

The babe’s skin was blue, but he had tufts of blond hair that stood up like golden flames on his head. 

“Magni could walk the day after he was born. He is jotunn,” Jarnsaxa said at Loki’s shoulder. “It was rather funny. Thor was so relieved that his eyes were not blue. He said with Magni’s coloring, it would have looked like the child had no eyes at all.”

Loki nodded blankly. The apple was a flavorless, burning lump in his throat. The half-jotunn child tagged his grandmother on the knee, and shrieked with laughter as she chased him back to Thor, who swung him up and tossed him in the air. 

“You can’t have him,” said Jarnsaxa gently. “You have to understand that. You will only upset him. He has only recently found some peace, and even that was short-lived. He tries so hard to be a good prince. A good man.”

“He won’t marry you, if that’s what you’re hoping for,” said Loki, his voice hissing like snakes around his smile. “He has another bastard with some other woman, a proper Aesir _woman_ at that. You’re nothing, and you come from _nothing_.”

Thor looked up with his son in his arms, and seeing the two of them, waved, and Jarnsaxa waved back. Loki, sorting the apple seeds in the palm of his hand, tossed them carelessly out the window and stood up. Jarnsaxa’s hand on his arm gave him pause.

“I know that. I never wished for more than what I have now,” said the other jotunn, and if his voice wasn’t so calm, Loki would have thought he was pleading. “But you cannot have him either. You are his brother now, and the house of Odin is no sewer of incest. Cease tormenting him and let him go. Please.” 

"I really wouldn't worry," said Loki thoughtfully. "After all, you could be mistaken. If I have no hold over Thor, then I have nothing to let go."

He looked down at the smooth perfect hand on his arm, and briefly contemplated breaking off each and every one of Jarnsaxa's fingers and feeding them to him. Then he sighed and patted that hand, and let Jarnsaxa guide him out of the healing rooms.

Much as Loki disliked the omnipresent gold of the architecture, it cast a glow on his pale Aesir skin that mimicked health. The high-necked robes that he had quickly thrown on covered most of his fading bruises.

At the top of the wide staircase, he paused, remembering Helblindi once telling him that his stubbornness would make him strain and struggle furiously when accepting help would have been the wiser course, and he'd end up falling and making a greater fool of himself. With a sigh, Loki leaned heavily on the other jotunn, and they made their way down.

Before they walked out into the bright afternoon light of the courtyard, he leaned in to whisper in Jarnsaxa's ear, and from a distance it looked as if they were two close friends sharing a confidence. 

"But if I do," said Loki, "there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. So, please, _do_ make a loud and melodramatic fuss. It will be so amusing." Then he straightened up and held out his hands to greet the half-jotunn child who tottered up to them. "Now, you will introduce your prince to his new favorite nephew."


	3. Love's Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re not friends. You’ll never be friends. You’ll be in love till it kills you both. You’ll fight, and you’ll shag, and you’ll hate each other till it makes you quiver, but you’ll never be friends. Love isn’t brains, children, it’s blood… blood screaming inside you to work its will.”
> 
> \-- BtVS S0308. 
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Loki and Svadilfari](http://notalickofsense.tumblr.com/post/29318042452/phobs-heh-another-one-loki-svadilfari-sketch) art by [phobs](http://phobs-heh.tumblr.com/). Or, why this sequel exists.
> 
>  

 

From the lofty heights of the palace walls, the sounds of bustling, clanging, shouting, the sounds of awls on stones and hammers, of gears creaking, of heavy stones being set into place, all these were ground into the fine dust of white noise.

They were not so high amongst the clouds that he could not see what proceeded below. Loki leaned over the battlements and watched the builders at work. 

He could see who belonged with which crew, what particular task they were set to doing. He could even discern which tools they were using. They were strong, brawny men, their build closer to jotunns than most Aesir, though not all of them were tall as they were muscular. There were actual jotunns on a few of the work crews as well, and Loki closed his eyes with a pang. Abruptly, he stopped humming. It was that snippet of a jotunn song again. Lately it just wouldn’t go away, as if his own mind was taunting him.

At work on the main reconstruction of the great wall, a tall man with a sharp black beard stretched and stood up, and Loki admired the impressive set of arms, the way his muscles rippled on his back. What a splendid creature he was. How like Thor. He could almost map Thor’s face on this man as he watched him move, pretend it was Thor working in the yards. Looking at him, he could almost smell Thor, the faint smell of fresh sweat, the way the sun kissed his skin, golden and beloved –

He shook his head. He was getting maudlin, and soppy and _useless_. 

The man looked up, and seeing him watching, winked at him. Loki pursed his lips and turned away at the sheer cheek of him. From below, a roll of knowing laughter followed him and prickled the back of his neck.

“Why are there no women working on the crews?” he asked Balder. “Do they wear special clothing to hide themselves?”

“Hmm, what?” Balder was working on a list, and was chewing on his pen out of habit, which made him look more confused than usual. “What, women working on construction? It’s just not done.”

“Why not?”

Balder smiled in his conciliatory way, and came back the castle walk to look over the battlements with Loki. “I keep forgetting how differently you think about these things. I suppose it’s your jotunn upbringing. I’ve never thought about that before. I don’t really know. There’s the matter of strength –”

“Women don’t have it?” he asked, and Balder flushed.

“No, no, I don’t mean that. But it’s a different kind of power. My Nanna can make me do anything with just a crook of her finger and a pout. And you know father would rather have a daughter to dote on than the pack of us. But as for physical strength, well….”

“I’ve seen the Valkyrie,” said Loki dryly. “They would throw both of us across the yard if they heard you.” Then he shrugged. The Aesir were strange in their halfthing ways. “Would a princess be better than a prince? She could not be king.”

“No, she would have to marry a king,” said Balder, and frowned. “It does sound rather unfair when you put it that way. But it’s not as if you or I would be king, either, in any case.”

Loki laughed, barely hiding the scorn. “Ah, yes, the mighty Thor has uncontested claim to _that_.”

Balder put his hand on Loki’s arm. “You mustn’t let it make you bitter, Loki. We all have our place, and we must learn to be satisfied with it or there will be strife, and in the end Asgard will suffer for it.”

He smiled at Loki in that watery, stupid way that he had, and Loki supposed Balder _had_ to be the good one. He didn’t have any other qualities to flaunt. Loki thought he heard the worn threads of an old argument, one that Balder must have repeatedly told himself over the years, and smiled to himself.

“There _are_ physically strong women,” he said, arguing for the sake of it, “and there’s enough machinery to compensate for the rest.”

“I suppose that’s true. Perhaps there _are_ women builders out there. But it’s not a very glamorous job, and if a woman did want to start, she’d have to learn the work from the bottom, and there would be too much ribbing and abuse in the yard for many to last very long. I mean, half those ignorant brutes aren’t even wearing any shirts.”

“Yes. How awful of them,” said Loki, chewing on his bottom lip. 

_His_ worker was heaving a giant block of stone up on a table for carving, and another man, his master it would seem from his manner, came up to talk to him, running his hand over the other man’s back as if he was soothing a fine animal. As if he owned him. 

Loki wondered what it would be like to have a man like this at his beck and call. Have him kneel and bow his head while Loki examined him, such a superior creature subdued and quiescent. All that brute strength quivering under his touch, waiting to obey his softest whisper. 

But when he imagined the man, bound and kneeling at the foot of his vast golden bed, all he could see was Thor. He swallowed hard, and his hand slipped on the battlements, letting fall bits of gravel. 

Both the master and his man looked over their shoulders and saw him, and his worker – he was not _Loki’s_ worker – grinned at him again. The impudence of him. As if he could look inside Loki’s head and lay bare his thoughts. 

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t bother you very much,” Balder was saying, with an uneasy laugh, and jumped when their shoulders brushed. 

Loki rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, brother. I have no intention of ravishing you.”

“What?” Balder’s voice hitched, and he went red again. “I mean, good. Good. I wouldn’t want you to… but… why not?” 

“Your looks are starting to go,” said Loki. “If you don’t take care, you’ll develop a paunch and jowls within the year.”

“Really?” squeaked Balder the Beautiful, and Loki laughed at him. The workman gazed up at him boldly, raking his eyes over Loki – so like Thor, so unlike him – before the master builder patted him on the back. Loki observed a thin strap of leather that crossed over his shoulders and circled his neck. With a last searing look at the battlements, the man went back to his work.

“No, it was only a jest,” said Loki absently. “You’re still a scrumptious treat. Tell me, Balder, do men keep slaves in Asgard?”

“What? No! Of course not! Are you thinking of making someone your slave?”

“Why, are you volunteering?”

“Loki, that is not how slavery works,” said Balder sternly and throwing out his chest self-righteously. “It’s very serious. And very, _very_ wrong.”

Loki could almost get to like this one; he was rather adorable when he wanted to assert his dominance. Loki bowed his head in mock capitulation, hiding his smile. 

“No, of course, brother. You know best,” said Loki. “You sit attendance on all the petitions and disputes brought before the throne. Your expertise is incomparable, brother.”

“Yes. Thor never sits to listen to –”

“ – whiny hour –”

“What? No, Loki, don’t call it that. Thor calls it that, and it’s disrespectful.”

“I apologize, brother.” 

But Balder was intent on indulging in a good scowl. “Thor is remiss in his duties. He doesn’t do any of the boring work any more. He rarely sits and listens in the Hall. He doesn’t have to sort through mountains of legal work and petitions and complaints. He doesn’t care that granting this merchant rights would be infringing on twenty others. But they all love him. The people love him anyway.”

“He has a certain flashy appeal,” said Loki, frowning. “And sadly, flashiness seems to count more in matters of state than it should. Grand gestures, something everyone can see and understand.” He patted Balder on the arm. “Don’t fret, brother. I am certain the people are fond of you, too, when they bother to think of you.”

And that was the crux of it. All of Asgard was humming with peace, a capitol too vast and secure to brook any petty fuss or upset. To allow a firecracker thrown in their midst to do more than raise a few eyebrows. There was no chaos here, no excitement, no spark. 

Even the clouds looked like perfect castles here. Even this great wall of Asgard, a colossal project, forever being worn down as it was being built and rebuilt, was a stable presence here in the eternal city, a constant irritant in the daily lives of the people, but a still solid presence. 

There was a way – oh, every one of the builders was certain the others were at fault, but nobody would agree to anyone else’s plan, and they were a cantankerous bunch. 

Loki peered down the crenellations. 

The master builder was poring over his own designs, but his handsome servant was gone. A great black horse came out from behind his tent and knelt to receive the heavy yoke around his neck. In all of Odin’s stables, they didn’t have a horse this strong; it pulled the weight of a dozen huge blocks on its own where the other beasts were paired to pull three at most. 

“I wonder if father would like such a horse,” muttered Loki, half to himself. “It is not meet that a builder should have a better steed than the king.”

Balder glanced at the horse and shrugged. “It does seem a waste of a rather fine animal. Father loves horses. Even better than he loves his dogs. Though he probably likes his old red setter more than me, and she’s blind in one eye. Everyone forgets about me,” Balder was saying glumly. “Already, the people talk about you more than me. Wicked, mysterious prince Loki. Loki and Thor. Thor and Loki. Never Thor and Loki and _Balder_. But then, if we were all fascinating, who would do all the boring work?” 

He sighed heavily, looking a little woebegone and a little brave, like a sad fat rabbit, and Loki couldn’t help patting him on the cheek. Down in the bailey, the great black horse gleamed in the sun, proud and powerful as Mjölnir, and Loki thought of Thor’s brutal hands slamming him against rock, and shuddered, feeling weak at the knees.

Balder was looking at him worried. 

“Are you quite all right?” he asked. “You’ve gone a bit pale. Are you sure you’ve recovered?”

Loki wiped the cold sweat from his brow and steadied himself on the wall. Weak, weak, always so weak, whether in Jotunheim or in Asgard. He couldn’t seem to change that. But when was being weak a strength? Now that was a puzzle. 

“I’m well enough. You’ve listened to enough tedious complaints for one afternoon, brother. You needn’t hear mine,” said Loki, smiling brightly. “I would have your company on a little jaunt outside the palace.”

“What, me, and not Thor? Wouldn’t you rather spend time with Thor?”

“No, not Thor,” said Loki, who could still smile and feign nonchalance when he felt like stabbing someone in the neck. He supposed he had Farbauti to thank for that. 

“It’s not something wicked, is it?” asked Balder, sounding rather hopeful.

“Not too wicked. Only the pursuit of a little knowledge. That is not a sin in Asgard, is it?”

“I… I don’t know,” said Balder. “It depends on what kind.” But he latched himself to Loki’s side, determined to go along with it. Probably to save Loki from his own dreadful self. 

“There’s a dear. You’re learning.”

It was fortunate that, in deciding to be a good prince of Asgard, he had given up pursuing brothers. 

But then, in the square of his jaw and the shape of his brow, and in certain lights when he turned just so, Balder bore an unfortunate resemblance to Thor, and Loki’s fingers itched for a knife to carve it right off.

\-------

The best of times, and the worst, was when the queen gathered them together for tea in the lilac garden.

It was one of the few private gardens, enclosed on three sides by topiary and the fourth by a tall crumbling brick wall covered with ivy, out of which the baby Magni was trying to pick centipedes and stuff them into his mouth. 

Thor grabbed his son and swung him gurgling up into the air. “Bad, bad! Don’t eat the bad bugs, Magni! Bad!”

“Whysoever not, Thor? Give him to me.” Loki leaned forward in his chair and held out his hands.

The child laughed, delighted to be thrown up in the air, and dropped the squirming insects down Thor’s neck. He landed safely back into his father’s large hands and kicked him in the eye. Evidently he was bent on continuing the family resemblance. Thor, groaning and laughing at the same time, dropped the child into Loki’s lap. 

“It won’t hurt him any,” said Loki, dandling the child. “In Jotunheim, you eat what you can get. You can’t afford to be picky on a big lump of ice. Centipedes would be a rare delicacy.”

“But they’re poisonous!” exclaimed Balder, horrified. “You don’t actually _eat_ them, do you, Loki? Is that true? Father? Thor?”

The Allfather only grunted, not looking up from the corner where he was replanting the bulbs he’d dug up. Or so Frigga claimed. His experiments with black tulips had gone a step too far, and the sliver of petal peeking out of from the tightly closed buds was almost transparent. 

“You’re so spoiled, Balder,” scoffed Loki. “Food literally falls from trees and throws itself out of the sea for you, doesn’t it? We can’t all of us feast on fermented shark every day. When I was young, I would have been grateful for a good beetle. And I am hurt that you should doubt me so. After all, I am only your _brother_.”

He set Magni down on the grass, and the child tottered around him as if tied to a magical tether around his knees, audibly sniffing for something. 

“You’re lying to me, aren’t you?” said Balder, narrowing his eyes. 

“Find us a plump juicy slug, and I will show you,” said Loki. “But since you doubted my word, you shall eat it too, as a show of the trust you have so promptly withdrawn from me.”

“No, no… I didn’t mean it that way… all right, fine. I’ll eat the slug. And I meant no distrust, brother. Forgive me,” said Balder. Then, he glared at Loki. “Wait, if you’re so fond of slugs, then, why are you eating cake?”

Loki widened his eyes at Balder, and crammed the entire point of honey cake he had picked up into his mouth, as if that was the only answer Balder deserved. Frigga laughed and cut him another, even bigger slice, and Thor slumped back in his chair with his hand over his eyes, his shoulders shaking,

“Balder, what did I tell you about listening to anything Loki says?” said Thor, and Loki turned to Thor, his cheeks full as a chipmunk’s, and miming mock-outrage.

“Nothing!” yelped Balder. “As usual. No one tells me _anything_ around here except him, and now you mean to say he’s making a jest at my expense. I’m part of this family, too, you know!”

“Of course you are. Don’t shout, Balder,” said Frigga, pouring a round of tea for everyone, and sent Balder to take a cup over to his father. Balder did so, still grumbling. 

The garden was one of the rare spots on the palace grounds that was for family only. No servants, no work, not even trusted advisors and close friends. Even Freyja and Frey were absent, as was Balder’s sweetheart Nanna, who was not yet betrothed to him formally. It went without saying that Jarnsaxa was not included in the circle. After all, Frigga was the goddess of marriage and family, and she only looked gentle to those naïve enough to believe the mask was her face. 

Magni was swatting at and around Loki’s lap with the intensity of a wild cat hunting for gophers. Loki smiled down at him. 

“I’ve a present for you, baby. If you can catch it.” 

Between his fingers, Thor looked on fondly as Loki dangled a stuffed wolf toy in front of Magni, pulling it quickly away before the child could grab hold of it. Magni shrieked with laughter, his chubby hands clapping at air or Loki’s knees, wherever the toy had been, before, finally, he clambered onto Loki’s lap with his dirty feet. 

“Loki, the boy is not a cat,” said Thor. “Do not tease him so. And Magni, get down. Show some respect.”

“So many rules, Thor,” said Loki, laughing. “As if he can understand a word you’re saying. We shall ignore him, won’t we, baby?”

Loki held the toy high above his head, and Magni clutched at his arms and started climbing him like a tree, leaving patches of dirty footprints on Loki’s tunic. There was a moment when, clinging to his neck, the babe almost lost his grip, and Loki scrambled to grab hold of the child before he could tumble off. Startled, he held Magni in the circle of his arms, and Magni snatched the toy wolf in triumph. 

“Why, you tricky little rascal,” said Loki, grinning wide, and Magni yanked at Loki’s hair in his fat fists and gurgled, “Mama!” 

There was a moment when no one knew where to look, especially not at Loki’s face, which had turned rather terrible. 

Then, suddenly, and quite uncomfortably, the child was swept into a tight hug, as his father’s brother flushed the palest of blue where their skin touched and whispered fiercely into the sweet baby-smell of his hair. 

“Oh, why can’t you be mine?”

The silence that fell over the garden immediately afterwards was uncomfortable as well. For everyone except the babe, who, squirming, climbed down from the lap and toddled over to grab himself a handful of apricot jam cookies while the grownups were pointedly not looking at each other. The plate and the rest of the cookies fell to the grass. 

Loki got to his feet. “I shall fetch us some more biscuits,” he said, and quickly left the garden.

The Allfather harrumphed and called after him. “Ask for the ones with those bitter chips in them, the new _xocolātl_ from Midgard.” 

Before Loki was out of earshot, he started laughing, and Thor and Balder stared at him as if he was mad. Then again, half the time they did consider their father utterly mad. It was the only explanation for most of the things he did, as well as the existence of Loki. 

“Hush, Odin,” said Frigga gently, picking up the plate. “That was not, in any way, very nice. And we were waiting so long to hear what the child’s first word was.”

“What have I to hush about, woman?” demanded Odin. “I’ll wager, he taught the babe to say that as a joke, better yet in front of the babe’s dam just to spite him. He can’t blame the fates if the joke came back to sting him instead. That strain of nastiness he gets naturally, from Laufey, the little bitch.”

“Odin,” admonished Frigga. “Such language. And in front of the child.”

Odin sighed, and nodded at Frigga to pour him some more tea. She shook her head at him, stirring a heaping spoon of yak’s butter into his tea, and handed him his cup. 

“Don’t tell Jarnsaxa what happened,” muttered Balder, and Thor looked at him as if he was an idiot. 

“And why not?” Odin came to sit down heavily in his chair – it was an overstuffed, flowery one, in contrast to the elegant white hard-backed ash of the others. “Why not marry that strapping young fellow of yours, Thor? Then you can bring him to your mother’s fancy family teas. He and your brother would get on like a house on fire.”

“And set the whole village ablaze, and the river, too,” muttered Thor, and Balder smothered a laugh.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid to marry your paramour because your brother might not like it,” said Odin, scoffing. “What sort of man would that make you?”

“I am _not_ afraid,” growled Thor, and Balder had to pull him back into his seat by the back of his shirt. “What is it you say to me all the time, old man? That my marriage is a matter of state? That I must do what is best for Asgard?”

Odin only snorted into his teacup, sploshing tea all over his beard. “We tried that before. With Jotunheim, remember? And what a fine mess you made of that. So, go ahead, Thor, marry your jotunn. Marry that other wench you knocked up the duff. Marry Volstagg for all I care. It’s no business of mine.”

“That’s not what you said before!” 

“And you’re so good at doing whatever I tell you to do? Is that why you’ve littered Asgard with your bastard brood?”

“As have you! What are we but lasting testaments to your wandering dick?”

“Odin! Thor! We are a _family_!” cried Frigga, holding a squirming Magni in her arms. Balder was holding onto Thor’s arms to stop him from slugging out their father.

“Marry whomever you want!” hollered Odin. “Ingrate! Mindless thug! I have no need of you! I have Balder and Loki for that. Balder can go marry the queen of the Norns. That crazy old bat’s always going on about how she’s in love with him. And Loki. Well, the dwarves have been grumbling for a new treaty ever since we made one with the jotunns. We can settle that. Or I can send him packing to the Dökkálfar. Loki’s flexible. I hear their king’s a widower now.” 

“You’ll do nothing of the sort, you terrible old man! He’s not your pawn!” Thor roared at him, and the Allfather got to his feet, bristling.

“I’ll do what’s necessary! I’ll not keep him here so you can go sniffing between his legs again! Your brothers are not your harem!”

Balder had to tackle Thor to the ground before he could commit unforgivable crimes against Frigga’s tea table and their father. Odin spit out his tea, and tossed the rest of the cup onto the grass with a gob of spit. “Cold, dammit, cold as a jotunn’s cunt.”

“Odin. Thor,” Frigga said sternly. “This is _not_ what I meant by an intimate family tea. We want to make your brother feel at home here.”

“Oh, I don’t know, mother,” said Loki, who had returned with a fresh pot of tea and a plate of biscuits. No one was quite sure how much he had heard. “It’s as if I’ve never left the loving bosom of Jotunheim.” 

“Everyone. Sit. Down,” ordered Frigga, and mulishly Odin sank back in his chair, while Thor dragged his halfway across the lawn so he wouldn’t be sitting next to his father or either one of his brothers. His son went tottering off to greet Loki. 

“Mama!” he cried happily. Loki tousled his hair, and gave him a wry smile and another biscuit. He shrugged at all sundry. “What does it matter? He’s spoiled his appetite already. Another biscuit won’t hurt.”

Odin grumbled as Frigga set about pouring him a fresh cup, and scratched at the scab under his eyepatch before turning on him.

“So you heard us. No use denying it. You don’t mind going to Svartalfheimr, do you, Loki?”

“Ah… well.” 

The babe sat at his feet, trying to feed his biscuit to his new toy, and Loki focused on the child instead while Thor watched them out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s wrong with Svartalfheimr?” barked Odin. “You were charmed enough when the dwarves showed off their craft. Brokkr’s a good sort if you can keep a civil tongue in your head around him. Better yet, he has the best forge in the Nine Realms, far better than those sons of Ivaldi you were raving about. Frankly, I prefer him to that vicious Malekith fellow, king or no king. Well, what say you, Loki? Do I have even one son who will do as he’s bid?”

“Father –”

“Answer me!”

“You told me once,” said Loki quietly, “that you meant for me to be free.”

Odin scoffed. “And why should you be free when your brothers aren’t? You want to be prince of Asgard, you do your duty. You want to be free, get out. Go back to being the nothing you are.”

“Odin!” She turned to Loki. “Your father doesn’t mean that.”

“Don’t _Odin_ me, woman. Of course, I mean that. If you’d given me a couple of well-behaved girls instead, we wouldn’t be having this much trouble.”

“Oh? Is that what you think?” Frigga raised an eyebrow at him. “And why should you have any more children if you only mean to get rid of them?” 

The Allfather sank deeper in his chair and glowered roundly at his sons. Loki looked up at the sky, feigning boredom. 

“Oh look, I think it might rain. Don’t you agree, brother?” he said in Thor’s general direction. “What a pity our lovely family outing must be cut short.”

The Allfather pointed a gnarled finger at his firstborn. “Oh, no you don’t. You’ve ruined enough of my flowers with your outbursts. No thunderbolts, no raindrops. I’m not finished, yet. You, boy,” he barked at Balder.

“It’s _Balder_ , father,” said Balder wearily, and Loki shook his head at him and murmured, “I _told_ you father doesn’t remember who you are.”

“Balder,” Odin gritted out, sending Loki a glare to shut up. “I know my own son’s name. How can I forget it when it’s on everyone’s lips nowadays? Tell me, boy. _Balder_. What is it I hear about you introducing your new brother to the whores of Asgard? When I said show him around the place, I didn’t mean all the _brothels_.”

“Odin – !” 

“Father, I can explain – ”

But whatever explanation Balder had in store was cut short by the rumble of Thor’s laughter. Or at least it sounded something like it. Thor had covered his face with his hands, and the odd, muffled sound that came out was somewhere between amusement and misery.

\-------

They were hares first, kicking down the green hills beyond Gladsheim on surprisingly powerful haunches. Then they were a pair of foxes nipping at each other’s heels.

But Loki liked it best when they were falcons and dipped soaring into the well of the sky. He could almost forget Asgard when they were flying, when he lost himself in the wind and the flight and sheer freedom of becoming something else. 

“But it is not truly becoming someone else,” said Freyja. “It is not exactly an illusion when you take another form. In a way, you are the falcon, and you are not. That’s the beauty of it.”

Freyja was huddled under three furs on a settee in the sunniest corner of the ice tower. Frey came in with a small brass stove shaped like a fat cat and set it before her feet. 

“Don’t look at me,” said Frey. “All I need are a few simple glamours to spice up things in bed. What do I care if you can’t lay eggs later? I should think you’d be glad of it.”

“But why not?” asked Loki. “You are wearing the form. It should follow that you can use it as you will. In every way.”

Chortling, Frey shook his head, but Freyja spoke, “I could take Frey’s form, but I wouldn’t truly be Frey, even if I took every maiden from here to Niflheim.”

“That sounds like the very essence of Frey,” said Loki, and Frey gave him a small bow. “Why thank you, little changeling. You warm the cockles of my… cock. By the way, you’re welcome to sit on it any time you please.” 

“Oh, hush Frey,” said Freyja, pulling her furs close, and turned the question over carefully. “The core of what makes us who we are, our essence so to speak, is not so easily changed, Loki, even when we take another form. The proof of that is with children. They are one of the strongest ties that bind us to the loom of fate. Thus, you cannot carelessly drop a calf when you take the form of a heifer or leave behind a parcel of kits when you are a hare.”

“Is that why you visited every whorehouse in Asgard, princess? To scatter your seed?” Frey was laughing out loud now. “I could have told you that whores know better than anyone how to stop a seed from taking root.”

“It wasn’t like that at all. It was in the pursuit of knowledge,” snapped Loki, and Frey laughed even harder, slapping his legs. Even Freyja was smiling, and Loki didn’t feel like correcting either of them. None of this felt remotely funny anymore. Few things did.

Loki scowled and looked down on the bailey from the window seat. He was wrapped only in his dark green traveling cloak since they had returned from their flight. His servant Eric was hovering at the doorway, anxious to drag him into the bath and bundle him up in a fresh set of clothes. 

Lately, he had taken to spending more time in this tower room, leaning against blocks of ice that did not melt under Asgard’s sun. The cold numbed his skin, but the full blush of blue had become more and more difficult to bring out, and when it did, it was after he had spent hours reading in the tower, withstanding the cold sinking into his bones. His Aesir skin had always been pale enough to show his veins, and by the time his Aesir lips were blue and shivering, it was clear his jotunn form was beyond reach. 

The last time he had done this for long, he had passed out. His breathing had gone faint and shallow, and Eric had thought he was dead and had screamed and screamed until everyone had come running. 

Loki had awoken rolled up in five blankets with Mjölnir placed on his chest, and Frigga weeping silently beside him. Odin had threatened to pull down the tower, and sick of pleading and playing pliant, Loki snapped back at him without thinking, saying that he could always find more ice and no one could stop him. 

Furious, the Allfather had had him locked up in the small room next to the kitchens, and had the servants fire up twenty-seven giant ovens on the other side all night long, until the walls pulsed red like the stones of Muspelheim. But the words begging for mercy refused to leave his lips. In the morning, Odin let him out with a steely look, which he returned. But Loki kept his tower. 

He sat in here whenever his spirits were down, which was more and more often these days.

Frey slumped across from him on the window seat. “Loki, your little sheep dog is worrying, and he’s making me dizzy,” he said. Eric was fidgeting at the doorway, and Loki sighed and ignored them both. 

He could see his worker in the yard below. How silent and magnificent he was, the way the sweat glistened off his back, the way he stood up and stretched, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the sun glinting off the tower of ice. 

He imagined dragging him up by the straps on his shoulders and having that massive bulk lie heavily upon him, have those rough hands part his thighs, and his breath hitched as he imagined the man press open-mouthed kisses to his neck. But when he closed his eyes, it was Thor again. 

“Go bring us some hot tea, dear,” Freyja was saying. “It will stave off the chill.”

Relieved, Eric dashed off, making an infernal clatter as he did. 

“What is the matter with that boy?” asked Frey, laughing at the scowl on Loki’s face. “Why does he look too afraid to approach you and too scared to leave your side? Did you beat him? Don’t tell me you’ve taken him to your bed. He’s a _servant_.” 

“Don’t be absurd,” snapped Loki. “What would I do with a child? No, wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“As if two children wouldn’t snuggle up together for comfort. You’re little more than a child yourself….” Frey peered into his face. “What’s the matter with you? Still haven’t gotten your brother to fuck you, yet?” 

Loki snarled and kicked out him. But Frey was too quick for that, and grabbed Loki’s ankle and yanked him close. His back hit the flat of the ice, and Frey loomed over him, pinning him down with the flat of his hand.

“That wasn’t very nice, princess. I could have fallen out the window. Did I hit a nerve?”

“Get off me. You’re sick.”

“I watched you two fight. It didn’t look like you were trying very hard.” Frey seated himself between his legs, and pulled him up onto his lap. “You wanted him to catch you, princess. You let him beat you to a bloody pulp, just to get his hands on you. I’m not the sick one here.”

“Frey, don’t,” warned his sister, but Frey didn’t let go, and Loki gave up on struggling. It was easier to let Frey hold him, to fall against his massive chest and rest his head on Frey’s shoulder and pretend…. 

But no, Frey didn’t smell right. Loki sighed and let out a choked sob. 

Somewhere beyond the circle of arms, a silver teapot jangled, and Freyja must have taken the tray from Eric before he dropped it. Frey’s hand was in his hair and he forced Loki’s head up to look at him. 

With that, Loki felt all the fight go out of him, and sighed again deeply, feeling a thread unravel inside, and a piece of what made him come unloose and roll away, setting off an avalanche of little pieces. With it came relief that he could stop holding back the mountain and let if fall upon him. 

And buried somewhere deep and from long ago, came Laufey’s voice, soothing and menacing at once in the pitch of darkness. If he ever stopped fighting, the universe would take him apart and he would be unmade. When he was young, he had taken that to be a warning. But now he realized, it was a wonderful promise of utter obliteration. 

“What’s wrong with you? Are you ill?” Frey was getting increasingly frantic. “Are you really _lovesick_? I didn’t mean to – do you want me to take you to bed? I can pretend I’m Thor. I can… no, don’t cry, little jotunn. No, no, why is he weeping? Freyja? Freyja!”

Around him, voices were arguing, and someone had started to cry. Was it Eric, again? That silly boy. He would have to get himself a proper servant.

“Did you think you were being clever, Frey? Pushing him like that?”

“How was I to know?”

“Everybody knew!” hissed Freyja. “At least anyone with a grain of sense did, which I suppose would eliminate you. Take a sip of this, my sweet, it will warm you.” It was mint tea, and he drained the cup to the leas and then another. “Why did you keep him so long on that block of ice?”

“Much you know, sis. He’s a jotunn. He’s grieving and he’s homesick. I know the signs. Blast it. I should have dragged him home and had Gerd lock him up in our icehouse.”

“Shhh, Frey, I’m afraid that wouldn’t have worked. There’s something terribly wrong with him.”

He felt them move him to the bed, and curl themselves around him, rocking him gently fore and aft as he unraveled. Loki wouldn’t have minded Frey at the moment. He wouldn’t have minded anything at all. 

None of it mattered any more. He would tear the world to pieces, tear down the world tree and burn it for the sheer fun of it. He needed a good laugh. Maybe he would throw himself on the pyre, too, mingle his ashes with the rest and let it all scatter in the wind and leave nothing. It would be a fitting end to all things. Why should he be the only one to suffer?

And he rocked himself to sleep, listening to the soothing mutterings of Freyja and poor hapless Frey, who stroked his hair, and Loki cursed the world and himself and everything, and pitied it as he sank deeper into nothingness.

\-------

During the night, the world must have been set ablaze a dozen times over, burning away all the impurities, because it all felt different somehow in the morning.

Wonderfully new and invigorated, as if he had wiped the slate clean and could start over afresh. 

A gentle breeze blew in from the open window, and the light hurt his eyes. Loki pulled a blanket over his head, and burrowing deep in the comforting cave of his bed, he slowly realized what had happened. 

The world hadn’t changed. He had.

He had woken up a woman.

Someone was pushing in the door with the breakfast tray – Eric! – and Loki swore – the voice was still low, but softer somehow – and the words for a quick glamour slipped off his tongue, useless. 

He swore instead. _That_ seemed to work, if only to relieve his feelings.

“Go away,” Loki hissed from under the blankets. He could feel Eric hovering again. “No, wait, bring me a robe. Make haste, you worm!” 

The way Eric’s eyes bulged when he emerged from the bed, you would have thought Loki had been turned into a serpent. 

Or perhaps it was the way his robe gaped open in the front. 

He stalked over to a mirror, carefully adjusting his walk along the way, and looked at himself critically. He remembered – it felt like ages ago – how Byleistr had been so excited over his new fleshly chest. These were better. Much better. 

Back then, he had not fully understood how different the female form was from the male, beyond the additions to the slender perfection that was Jotnar. 

This time, after feeling up a couple hundred whores, after staring at more than six dozen artist’s models from every possible angle, from those barely out of girlhood to the more mature ones, he had finally gotten it right. 

The generous swell of the breast, the pert nipples, the breathtaking dip of the waist and elegant flare of the hips. It was all in the flow and difference, the contrast of soft flesh and delicate bones, the slender sweep of the jaw and long fluttering lashes. 

Finally, satisfied with his appearance, he adjusted his robes, clinching it tightly at the waist, and let show a modest curve of breast. 

He had Eric lace his heavy boots over his bare calves, and annoyed at the fit, he flicked his fingers for a simple spell. The boots fit snugly to the arch of his foot, and had an extra lift with a tall sharp heel. His first piece of magic as a woman, and he used it to make nicer footwear. He had to stifle a giggle.

No, that wasn’t it. He had used it to become someone else entirely. That was more important. 

“We’ll have to adjust the wardrobe,” said Loki, slowly getting used to this voice. He looked over at the breakfast tray and made up his mind. “I think I’m well enough to take breakfast with the family again, don’t you think, Eric?”

Eric stared at him for a moment, then giving him a conspiratory grin, clambered onto the bed and brushed out Loki’s long black hair, arranging a few locks to curl enticingly over his pale breasts. 

“Now you’re well enough,” he said. 

Perhaps Eric had always been better suited to be a lady’s maid.

\-------

The clattering of plates and goblets slowly fell away as he walked into the hall. By the time he took his seat next to the queen, utter silence had descended.

Casually Loki broke open a roll and, pursing his lips as if faced with life’s most perplexing problem, he looked over to his left at his brother.

“Thor, could you pass the butter?”

From across the curved table, Thor made a strangled noise, and made no move to accommodate him. Balder was no better; _his_ eyes seemed to ready to pop out of his head. 

Shaking his head, the Allfather grabbed the butter dish and handed it over to Loki. 

“There you go, my dear. So glad you could join us again.” He gave Loki a wink.

“You look very pretty this morning,” said Odin, unfastening a purse from his belt, and sliding it across the table. “But perhaps you’d like a new dress, sweet pea. We can’t have the people saying the Allfather can’t afford to clothe his children properly, now can we?” 

Loki took the purse and smiled winningly at him. “Thank you, father.”

Thor looked as if he might choke, and Loki let his gaze wander blandly back to him. 

It was as if a great weight had been lifted from him, as if the air had truly and decisively cleared this time, and was cold and bright as breath across a plain of endless ice. He had not felt like this for years, not since that one perfect day in the hills in Jotunheim before everything had gone to ruin. 

He looked across the table at Thor, and his heart didn’t beat painfully faster or twist with longing or shiver in the shadow of its loss, and without malice or anger or twisted lies, Loki smiled at him, and felt absolutely nothing. 

He wasn’t in love anymore. 

He was finally free.

 


	4. A Secret Burning Thread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from that fabulous old Suzanne Vega Song, ["The Queen and the Soldier,"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=2i6O-WelWgE) which works for Loki and Svadilfari in this fic.

There were some rules to being a woman besides the obvious. The most useful one was: always travel in packs. 

Sigyn helped him pick out colors – green was bold, and the way he wore it made it more sinful than red. White he wore sparingly; it attracted the wrong kind of attention, more often simpering fools who treated him like a fool. Today, he wore blue slashed with silver to look demure and gentle, the bodice tight and the lines of the gown slender and modest except for the generous display of breast.

They sat under the apple trees, and Sigyn talked while unpacking lunch out of a basket. “I wish you told me what you were doing. I would have helped you,” she was saying. 

“I did not wish to offend,” said Loki, admiring the turn of his own trim ankles and delicate wrists. He was feeling very pretty today, and he wasn’t the only one who knew it. “It wasn’t as if I could ask you to take off your shirt and show me your tits.”

“So you went to prostitutes.”

Loki shrugged. “I did not partake. It was for knowledge –”

“I know,” said Sigyn, blushing again. “I mean, I understand.” 

Loki looked at her, wondering if he could imitate Sigyn’s flush; he wasn’t sure his wouldn’t come out that horrendous beet red of Balder’s. 

“Sometimes you have to understand, to know things for yourself,” said Sigyn hurriedly. “Even when people assume it’s base. When I started examining bodies, cadavers really, my family was appalled. I lost a few friends I’d known since I was a little girl.”

“They were obviously not friends worth keeping.”

Sigyn handed him a peach tartlet. “It’s easy to say that now,” she said, and bit into her own turnover. “Now, my mother thinks I’m playing at healers so I can get a high-ranking nobleman for a husband.”

“Like me? I’m afraid that ship has sailed now.” Loki peered into her face, and Sigyn laughed, blushing even harder. Loki wondered how far that blush traveled down. Over the years he had lain with women a few times, but it had been quick and they were rough company, and none had been as sweet as this one. She was soft and pretty, and he wondered if she would scream with pleasure when he took her. Or weep. 

Then he remembered, he couldn’t. 

“They’re staring at us,” whispered Sigyn. 

“Let them.”

But he realized he had been leaning in and pressing her hand into her lap, and he straightened up. Even now, his hands were narrow and bony, and rather large for a woman’s. 

“Who is that, the man with the black beard? Do you know him?” Sigyn asked, and Loki deliberately didn’t turn to look. That scorching gaze had been following him all morning, undressing him with his eyes. 

“No one important,” he said and waved at someone else over Sigyn's shoulder. “Look, it’s Frey! Frey! Come sit with us!”

It was Freyja who did, helping herself to Sigyn’s sparkling cherry cider, and nudging room for herself on the bench. Frey stood some ways off, staring off at the clouds and deliberately not looking at Loki. Loki thought this was hilarious.

“Frey,” he called out sweetly. “You promised I could sit on your lap. Am I hideous to you now?”

Freyja smacked him on the arm, and not very gently. “Don’t tease him, Loki. He’s shy around women he doesn’t know.”

The three of them burst out cackling, and in a huff, Frey stomped off scowling. “Hags, the whole lot of you, you’re nothing but hags!”

“But truly,” said Loki, gasping for breath. “Why is it different? He had no qualms about being a cocktease before.”

“Oh, Loki,” sighed Freyja. “You are a woman now, and precious. Of course, people will treat you differently. Besides,” she added, “the Allfather would cut off his dick if he even laid a finger on you.”

“Not a finger,” murmured Sigyn, and leaned into his shoulder. He put his arms around her and kissed her ear. “There’s much one could do with a finger, sweet,” he whispered, and they laughed again, deeper and throatier this time ending in a sigh. 

At the very sight of them, Thor, who had been walking out onto the grounds, turned on his heel and stalked off in the other direction to join Frey. They muttered together, casting dark glances over at the three. Loki smirked at them and licked his lips. His workman had gone to draw a drink of water from the well. 

“But why should father have any say in whose cock I choose to ride?” he asked, and Sigyn gave a shocked gasp and tittered behind her hand. 

“Men always want a say in that,” said Freyja, leaning back against the trunk of the apple tree. “You are their goddess or their whore. Your father raises you up to be a queen now, but the wrong move will bring you crashing down to the gutter.”

But Loki had been born playing that game. He watched his workman now, how the water spilled down his throat and trickled over a bare chest browned from the sun, and chewed on the tip of his sharp black nails. 

“Tell me, Loki, how did you do this?” Freyja was asking him quietly. “You are a woman now, yes? This is powerful magic. What did you do? What price did you pay?”

The workman strutted off, bumping into Thor, and for a moment they looked as if they would come to blows. But after a pause, Thor stepped back with a gracious nod, and the workman gave a deep bow to the prince, and came up smirking. Loki laughed and clapped his hands, and got up, brushing the crumbs off his gown. Thor was making his way to them.

“Nothing,” said Loki absently. “I did nothing.”

“Be careful, child,” said Freyja, her eyes watching the two men. “There is always a price. You’ve lost as great a thing as you’ve gained.”

“If I did, it was nothing worth keeping.”

And quickly, he grabbed hold of Sigyn’s hand and hurried away before Thor could say a word.

\-------

Dusk settled and the night market came to life.

The night market was held outside the walls of the city proper, and was allowed to open only one day of the week, but it was bustling with vendors and customers alike, common folk who had no time during the day to haggle over merchandise, or to dally over bright things and eat sticky cakes or savory meats of dubious origin served in a paper cone. 

Loki paused at a stall and picked out a small green tunic, embroidered all over with elephants in silver thread, and sighed.

“Is the child yours?” asked a voice over his shoulder, and again, he didn’t have to turn around to confirm who it was. The workman’s solid presence gave out a dizzying heat, and he longed to step back and lean against it. But he stood aloof and clutched his dark green traveling cloak tight at his throat.

“No,” said Loki, picking out another tiny shirt, this one scarlet with a gold rabbit on the front. “My brother’s.”

“You sound far too sad for a lady choosing gifts for a beloved nephew,” said the workman. “Do you mean to strangle the tot?”

“What?” Loki gasped and whirled around to stare at the man. 

“Or do you mean to poison his mother?”

Loki narrowed his eyes at him. “What do you know of it?”

“I know what jealousy looks like,” said the man. 

“All new mothers are beautiful,” said Loki, not seeing him for once, and turned away quickly. 

“Not as beautiful as you,” said the man. He was grinning wide now, and moved to grab Loki’s arm.

“Let go of me,” he snapped, and the man backed off, palms in the air.

“Easy there, princess, no one’s going to hurt you. You looked a bit spooked is all.”

“I’m no princess,” said Loki. He wasn’t one tonight. He had dressed plainly in a simple gown of bluish grey, and his hood was up. But an outraged squeak came from behind them. 

There was Eric, five paces away from him, still in his green and gold livery and glaring at the workman like a furious mouse. Loki let out a disbelieving laugh, and shook his head. He nodded at the merchant and said, “Pay the man, Eric, and take the wares back to my chambers.”

“But, my lady,” said Eric. “I’m not supposed to leave you alone – ”

“I won’t _be_ alone, idiot. And I told you not to call me that,” hissed Loki, and Eric scowled back at him.

“Your most luminous highness, may the moon and stars kiss your elegant instep,” muttered Eric sourly, passing a small purse of coins at the merchant, and the workman burst out laughing. Loki stared at Eric. 

“You little rascal,” he said, pinching Eric’s cheeks none too gently. “I should box your ears for your insolence,” he stood up primly, “if you weren’t correct. Run along now.”

“But, I mustn’t —”

“How am I to get a good ravishing with you sitting on my skirts, guttersnipe?” said Loki, raising his hand as if to slap him.

At that, Eric gave a squeak and dashed off. He’d forgotten the shirts. Shaking his head, Loki tucked the two little shirts into a small satchel and slipped into the crowded street. 

After a while, he heard the workman rush after him. He was holding a piece of fried dough drizzled with sugar in each hand. He offered one to Loki, who turned his nose up at him, then frowning at the eager, waiting look on the man’s face, sighed and took the proffered sweet. 

“A good ravishing, you said,” said the workman, grinning at him. 

“No one said it would be from you, peasant,” snapped Loki. “Perhaps I have another lover.”

“My name is Svadilfari, princess,” he said, and the name rolled luxuriously in Loki’s mind. _Svadilfari_.

“I told you, I am no princess,” said Loki, and Svadilfari smiled, slowly, indulgently. Loki wanted to push him down to his knees for that smile, beat him with a lash until he cried out. But that led to other images, of the two of them entwined on his bed, writhing naked together in a field of flowers, the man's bare body covering his own in a snowstorm on the hills of Jotunheim –

He sank his teeth into the fried cake instead. It was piping hot and the melting sugar burned the top of his mouth as he took quick bites out of it. Wordlessly, Svadilfari gave him the other one and in his sudden hunger, he snatched it. 

Then he paused, and looked up at the man – _Svadilfari_ he thought – and felt a warmth on his neck, across his cheek, and pressed the back of his hand against it. This was new. 

Svadilfari was watching him with a small smile. Loki tore a strip of cake, watching steam curl out of the tender white bread, and fed it back to Svadilfari, who took it from his fingers. He watched the cake disappear piece by piece, as they walked through the market, looking for nothing in particular as the fireflies came out and danced like fallen stars. 

“Then what should I call you?” asked Svadilfari, and Loki sighed. His old ways had left him, and this, this felt as fresh and new as the world reborn, and he was weary. 

“It’s all right,” said Loki. “You may call me, princess. But only you.” 

Svadilfari smiled down at him again – Loki was still tall, inordinately so for a woman, but this man was taller, and larger, and magnificent. He smiled as if he knew Loki was lying and he didn’t care, and finally, Loki leaned his head against him and felt a rush of relief, of strength and comfort as Svadilfari’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, and a rough thumb came up and brushed away a tear.

“You loved your brother, princess,” said Svadilfari quietly. “You adored him beyond anything, and you were his sweet sister. But he found someone, as is right in the world. And now he adores her, and you feel as if you’ve lost your brother.”

“Shut up,” said Loki, burying his face into the man’s chest. “What do you know about it?”

“And now he has a child, but you hate its mother and wish her dead. And you hate yourself for thinking such a thing, so you shower the child with gifts.”

“I told you to shut up.” 

“But the worst of it is, you’re afraid you hate the child too, but you also wish to steal it –”

“Hold your tongue.” Loki stopped in his tracks and glared at the man, but Svadilfari looked calmly down at him, unimpressed.

“If you could only steal the child, you could steal your brother back –”

His hand was raised to strike, but Svadilfari was faster and he gripped Loki’s thin wrist and pushed it down. Breathing heavily, they stared at each other, and Loki, snarling and fuming in a flare of anger, moved to kiss the man instead. He had waited for this too long.

But Svadilfari moved back, and pressed a finger to his lips.

“Shh, no, princess,” he said. “Not in hate. I would not have a kiss from you this way.”

“Then you shall not have it at all,” snapped Loki, and shaking off his hand walked away, burning with mortification. 

“Even so,” said Svadilfari, and Loki could feel his gaze on his back, never faltering, for the length of the road as he made his way through the market. But Svadilfari didn’t come after him again.

\-------

The main hall of Gladsheim was packed now, not only with petitioners, but with an eager crowd of onlookers as well. During the late afternoon hours of audience, it was no longer merely prince Balder and his scribes and his retinue of law-sayers who nodded along to various complaints. Prince Balder was there as usual, but he was unnoticed, his chair almost hidden behind the draperies.

Today, the Allfather sat attendance on the golden throne, and down the steps before the dais on a simple chair carved of white oak, sat Loki, prince of Asgard, with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. 

He was a woman now, and wearing a severe black gown edged in gold, and his long black hair was piled high, set in place with a golden circlet with two slender gold horns that curved elegantly back from his brow. He was laughing at the guild of builders now, as the Allfather looked on, doting. 

“You mean to say it is not _your_ fault, Master Suthri,” said Loki, “that your portion of the wall remains unfinished because the other good Masters had the gall to get in your way? That they cast a shadow on your crew when all daylight should be yours? Why, should we hold council to determine what portion of the sun should be allotted to you alone, and pay rent if we should infringe upon it? You mean to put all of Asgard under your yoke with this false complaint. I am sorry to say that we have not yet imposed any such tax upon any citizen of Asgard, but when we do, you shall be the very first from whom we shall collect.”

The master builder scowled, but withdrew as the rest of the hall laughed at him, and the Allfather thumped his knee and chuckled. 

“Look at the spirit of her,” he said to anyone closest to hearing, which, unfortunately was Thor. “Look at the cleverness of her! Have you ever seen such a wicked little minx? Have you? Look at the way she holds her head. Have you ever seen the like?”

Thor grumbled and looked away, but Odin wouldn’t let him go without an answer. 

“No, father, I have not yet seen anyone so wicked as Loki,” he muttered. 

“You’re damned right, you haven’t,” said Odin, beaming. “Isn’t she a fine filly. Look at the pack of fools around her, slavering like idiots.”

“And what a wonderful place to put your fine filly on display,” said Thor.

“Better to show them what they can’t have,” said Odin. “No man’s good enough for my girl.”

Thor grunted, adjusting his seat. It was unfortunate, but unintentional, that he happened to block Balder almost entirely from view. He had not sat in attendance for these boring old things for over a year, but someone had to keep an eye on Loki. 

“That man seems to think otherwise,” said Thor, which made Odin sit up straight.

“What?”

Another builder had taken the center, and he was laughing at the others, calling them worse than useless, claiming loudly that they tore down more than they ever put up. He was putting on an outrageous show, and the several of the builders had to be forcibly restrained to keep from jumping up and beating the man. 

But Loki looked amused. 

He was leaning to one side on the armrest with that knife’s edge of a smirk on his face – Thor knew that look, exactly the same, no matter what face Loki wore – listening to the builder’s offensive bragging as he crossed and uncrossed his legs in a dizzying manner under that stern black gown. Behind the master builder knelt a giant of a man, his head bowed and arms splayed back in supplication. Loki’s gaze darted from the master to the servant, and a faint stirring of recognition tickled Thor. He’d seen that man before.

“ – I must have misheard you, master builder,” Loki was saying, with a mocking lilt to his voice. “But you could not have said that you could build this wall yourself? The Allfather is generous with those who wish to amuse him, but please, you should wear a clown’s colors and set your slave to tumbling for all your boasts.”

“I said exactly that and I meant no jest by it,” said the master builder in a booming voice. “I can build this wall, and better yet, finish it too, and I’ll do a better job for not having all these fools prancing around getting in my way, and faster than I can pull that stick out of your high holy arse and have you on your back, you sloe-eyed strumpet!”

The hall burst into an uproar, and the Allfather was on his feet, the heavy clang of Gungnir echoing through the vast chamber. But Loki only leaned forward like a viper, and in the sudden hollow silence, they heard him say, in a clear voice, “Done. You will finish the wall alone, builder –”

They waited with bated breath, as Loki stared down the master builder, and the master builder glared back, a vein throbbing on his forehead.

“I will need my horse,” he said tightly, “only my horse. I will need no other help,” and as if he’d waited for this, Loki nodded. “That is allowed. But you will finish the wall in three moons from this date.”

The master builder swallowed hard. “In three moons, aye, new moon to dark moon three times over, until the rising of the sun the next day. And as my reward –”

Loki laughed. “Do not ask for the sun, builder. We do not have it, nor do we hold rights to the moon.”

“But I will have your days and nights, princess,” said the builder defiantly. “When I finish the wall at the end of three moons, I will marry the princess of Asgard.”

Before the hall could burst into chaos, before Odin could protest, Loki leapt to his feet.

“Done," he said, grinning as if this was what he wanted all along. "But if you fail, if by sunrise after the third dark moon….” He paused, looking around the hall, smiling mischievously. “I will not have your life, builder. That is not worth anything to me.” 

Throughout the gathered hall, a few let out their nervous laughter, but they were quickly hushed. 

“But if even one stone is left out of place,” said Loki, “you will have no wages for your work, not even a chipped ha’penny.” Loki smiled and sat back in his seat smugly, resting his hands on the armrests like claws.

The hall rumbled, confused at the unexpected leniency from the throne, after the builder’s sheer audacity to cast any sort of claim to it by marriage. And slowly, like a rising wave, the gathered throng broke out into applause at the seeming generosity and good humor of their new princess.

Odin was grimly settling back into his seat, gnawing on his knuckles and looking shrewdly at his daughter/son, and a sick clammy chill crawled up Thor’s neck, a premonition of worse things to come that he couldn’t quite shake off.

But Loki, Loki’s eyes were glittering in triumph, and fixed, not on the arrogant master builder who was led back to his seat by his bewildered peers, but on the broad back of his servant, who had even yet not raised his head to look upon her.

“And I will have your horse, builder,” said Loki, with a little laugh. “You will walk back to wherever you came from.”


	5. A Price Above Rubies

_The 1st moon_

At first, the crowds gathered to watch the builder and his horse at work. They began at dawn and worked until sunset, an extraordinarily efficient team of two. The builder’s plan was not evident to all gathered; the way he worked, it wasn’t clear if any portion of the wall would be finished at all. Most days all you could see were dust clouds. And slowly the once eager crowds dispersed, bored by the work of carving and shaping going on in the yard, as the builder carved giant set pieces, and blocks of stone, high as a man’s shoulder and twice as wide, littered the grounds.

Throughout all this, the horse worked, carrying immense loads that would have crippled mammoths. Only at the close of the first month, when the moon waned until it winked out into nothing, did the builder yoke his great stallion to the pulley vehicle he had devised, and the first portion of the wall rose with great aplomb. Then, again the crowds swarmed to cheer the builder on.

From the lofty reaches of the palace, a veiled figure in black watched the proceedings. And some of the curious populace would look up and point her out, and wonder if she was gleeful or furious at the progress on the wall. But before the sun set, she would be gone.

\-------

In one of the few bursts of wilderness tucked into the edges of the great city of Asgard, a giant black horse wandered along a brook, nibbling at the last batches of clover as summer’s light faded. And from the copse of young linden trees, emerged a woman in a green traveling cloak. She led the horse to the water to drink, combing her fingers through its tangled and dusty mane. As the horse nuzzled her neck with its velvety nose, wet from the brook and whickering softly, the woman disappeared, and in her place stood a trim bay mare.

The mare whinnied and darted off over the roll of the clearing, as the crickets started singing and the first of the evening stars fell into the sunset. 

The stallion tossed his head and galloped after her, prancing and showing off his steps proudly. The mare snorted, unimpressed, and flicked her tail in his face, dashing out of his way when he charged after her. They trotted side by side, nipping at each other’s manes and withers around and around the clearing. But they did not wander far. Under the shade of the ancient oak trees, a path led to a weather-beaten shanty that was little more than a huntsman’s shelter against a storm. 

As darkness inked out the last light of day, in the stallion’s place was a great, broad shouldered man with a pointed black beard, and transformed again from the bay mare, was the woman. He bowed to her, bringing her fingers to his lips, and together they crossed the threshold into the humble shelter.

_The 2nd moon_  


Almost half the wall was built, and at the rate it was going up, the rest would take an even shorter time. The builder’s groundwork was paying off. For the moment, there was a temporary pause, as again, the builder worked on carving out the intricately fitting stones. This time, the crowds stayed to watch, pointing out the shapes and angles, and discussing which would go where.

The princess no longer paced the battlements. But the mighty Thor did.

He kept on pacing late into the night, and finally, into the small hours when he couldn’t stand it anymore, Thor marched down to wing of the palace where Loki’s rooms were, and barged in.

Loki’s little servant boy was asleep on a cot just outside his bedroom door, but he squeaked when Thor entered, and tumbled to the floor tangled up in his blankets.

“My prince, you can’t – !” he yelped, and latched himself to Thor’s leg like a rat terrier with an unfortunate underbite.

Thor tried to shake him off. “Get off me! I will see your mistress!”

“It’s _master_ , prince Thor,” said the terrier.

“What?” 

“His resplendent radiance, Prince Loki, may the heavens shower blessings on his every sigh, wishes to be addressed as male,” said the little snotrag. “Sir,” he added. Thor remembered vaguely that his name was Eric. He still wouldn’t let go.

“I’ll _male_ him,” snarled Thor, pounding at the door. “Loki! Open the door! I would speak with you!”

And without warning, the door glided open, and Thor stumbled into the room, dragging Eric in with him. 

Loki was seated at a small mahogany writing desk. At an hour when most of the palace was in bed, Loki was awake, and perfectly turned out in a pale pink silk dress, tightly laced, with a high, heart-shaped collar that flared out and framed his face. He was writing. He looked up as Thor entered and raised a perfectly plucked brow at him.

Thor stared back. “What are you doing up? Why are you dressed like that at this hour?” he demanded. 

Thor was suddenly unsure of what he himself was doing here. He didn’t know what he had expected. More drowsiness perhaps, or to come upon Loki unawares for once and have his say without Loki interrupting too often or making fun of him, and possibly feel better for getting this anxious feeling off his chest. 

Now, he was uncomfortably aware that he had just barged into a woman’s bedchamber at night uninvited, and that Loki was a woman and overly proper, and Thor was looking and _feeling_ rather foolish, especially since Loki had that supercilious look on his face – _her_ face – the one that was too much like Frigga’s and meant that Loki would flay Thor with his eyebrows.

“Would you rather I undressed?” asked Loki mildly, and Thor sputtered.

“No! No!” 

He took a step back and ended up stepping on Eric, who squawked. “Go back to bed, you!” he growled. It was not very kind, but Thor was feeling too tired and too anxious, and it was getting close to daybreak. He felt a headache coming on. 

Loki nodded at the servant boy. “Go back to bed, Eric.” 

With a last suspicious glare in Thor’s direction, the servant boy went out, leaving the door cracked open with a meaningful look at Thor. With a snarl, Thor kicked it shut and staggered over to the bed. He slumped down on it, his head heavy in his hands.

“Are you not worried, Loki?” he demanded finally. “The wall is rising faster than anyone has anticipated. At this rate, the builder will be finished in time, and there is nothing anyone can do about it. Are you not concerned? That man will _win!_ How could you have agreed to such terms? How could you be so reckless, so thoughtless? No one would have cared if the wall had stood in shambles for all eternity. Why did you have to stir things up? Did you need your name on some monument so badly?”

“My name,” said Loki, and he took up his pen again.

“You are prince of Asgard!” said Thor. “You always will be prince of Asgard. That should be enough. You did not have to test your mettle against a man such as this. And he will have you when the wall is done. How can you be so calm? What do you intend to do about it?”

“What do I intend to do about it,” repeated Loki calmly, and Thor, falling sideways on the bed, groaned into the pillow. 

“Don’t say you mean to do nothing! How could you allow this? You, clever Loki! Where are your plans now? Where are your cunning schemes? You cannot mean to _marry_ this man! This base-born _builder?_ Just tell me what to do, Loki. Tell me what to do, and I will do it. You cannot see this through to the end with your hands on your lap. You will _lose_ , brother, and you will be lost to us." 

"What to do," said Loki, smiling, "what to do to be lost."

"I am not speaking out of mere jealousy. This is not callow lust. We have been through too much. It is concern, brother, and love. I’ve grown. You may not believe me, but I’ve grown. You’ve changed faces more often than a snake sheds skins, and I still love you, and I care for you. I do not speak selfishly. It is for your sake that I worry. Tell me how to stop this. Tell me what to do.”

He waited, but Loki said nothing more and went on saying nothing. He only looked over at Thor impassively from the writing desk, and after a while, he went back to writing as if Thor had not pleaded with him. 

Thor groaned again, and smothered his face into Loki’s pillow. It smelled like him, and it did not. It was too fresh and there was a hint of perfume, too feminine, and Thor shook his head as if he could will it away, and make Loki turn back into what he was.

“Why did you change, brother?” he muttered. “Why did you have to change? Why couldn’t you have stayed the way you were? I would have found a way for us.”

The scritch-scratching of Loki’s pen did not stop this time, and Loki did not look up again. In the end, sleep overcame him, and as he drifted off, Thor imagined that the composed, emotionless face softened just a little bit to look at him with something resembling the old fondness again.

But it was only the flicker of shadows, and as dawn broke at the window, the perfectly coifed woman in the pink dress faded away into thin air. 

A moment later, from a swirling of smoke inside a tall mirror, Loki stepped out, wrapped in his green traveling cloak, his hair loose and unbrushed, and bedecked with dew. 

This Loki walked across the room and looked fondly down at his brother fast asleep on his bed. He reached down to caress his cheek.

“Oh, Thor, and they say I am the one who lies,” said Loki. 

He sat down beside him and idly played with the ties on Thor’s tunic. “I chose this, Thor. Be a better man, go back to the mother of your child, and leave me be.”

Then, with an impish smile, he unfastened Thor’s breeches too, and slowly pulled them off his sleeping brother, and tugged at the covers beneath him.

“Eric, help me with him,” whispered Loki, and Eric scrambled back into the room with a smothered giggle. Together, they tucked the prince into Loki’s bed, assisted in turn by Thor himself, who mumbled and turned in his sleep. Loki evaded his arm, which moved to pull him down onto the bed.

“There, there, Thor,” said Loki, leaning to kiss him at the corner of his mouth. He made sure to leave a smudge of dark rouge on Thor’s face. “Sleep tight, now.” And he turned to Eric. 

“It would be the height of unfairness to have _you_ carry his royal heftiness back to his own bed,” said Loki, with a smile. “Let him rest for a while. But send word to his people to let them know where their prince is sleeping. Have them drag his deadweight through the halls themselves.”

And dropping the cloak off his shoulders, Loki let his loose cotton shift fall to the floor and crossed the chamber to step into the bath.

_The 3rd Moon_

A ray of moonlight fell over Svadilfari’s back, and Loki lay his cheek on the man’s shoulder and drew patterns down his spine. The moon was almost full tonight. It was how he kept track of the passing of days now, or rather, nights, and he hoarded each sliver of the waxing moon jealously. Tomorrow, or the next, it would be full, and already it gave him a pang to imagine how it would tilt over and wane again, the darkness gnawing away at it until there was nothing.

“What happens next?” he whispered almost to himself, his woman’s voice strange to his own ears. “What about tomorrow?”

“Mmm?” Lazily, Svadilfari turned on his side, and gathered Loki into the reassuring expanse of his chest. “Tomorrow will be today again.”

“Will I have you again tomorrow?” asked Loki anxiously. “Will I have you always?”

“You have me now, princess,” said Svadilfari, and kissed him on the brow, to the side of his temple, between his collarbones, and reverently on each breast. He nuzzled his face between them and sighed happily. “Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” said Loki. “I’ve never been so happy, not like this –” he stopped shortly. 

“Growing up in a golden palace, spoiled by the king and queen,” teased Svadilfari, rolling him onto his back. He smiled down at Loki, and Loki wanted to drown in the warmth of his eyes. 

“Bathed in milk and cream, and everywhere I stepped was carpeted in freshly plucked rose petals,” said Loki lightly, pulling Svadilfari down for a kiss. “I was adored and cherished by everyone. Never a harsh word, never a tear. Every passing day was utter bliss and joyful as a dream.”

“And what a rude little hovel I’ve brought you down to, princess,” said Svadilfari softly, parting his legs and Loki gasped as Svadilfari entered him again. He missed his own cock, but, he thought smugly as Svadilfari pushed inside, there was something to be said for being hung like a horse. It filled him to the brim, fully, luxuriously, until he felt he couldn’t breathe.

The soothing rhythm of their coupling hastened and became more desperate as Loki rocked back against him. The man tried to be gentle, but Loki would have none of that, wrapping his legs around him and lifting his hips as if he meant to take all of him inside, to swallow him whole and keep him forever. 

And as the pleasure built up and rolled over him, he cried out, hoarsely, loudly, not caring who heard them, ringing like a victory cry as he felt the hot spill of seed. 

_Stay,_ he thought wildly, all but begging inside. _Don’t leave me. Stay,_ he thought, until all thought was washed away.

The moonlight was still there, shining down like a beacon. Svadilfari slumped over on his back and laughed breathlessly at the hole in the ceiling.

“What more can you ask for when the moon is your very own lamp?” said Svadilfari, and Loki curled up into his side and circled the flat of his nipple. 

“We could do with a few more creature comforts,” said Loki, gesturing at the bed roll and his green cloak. “A real bed perhaps.”

“We could fix this place up,” said Svadilfari. “Get a table, a few chairs. Fix that blasted draft in the corner.”

“Was that a draft? I didn’t notice.” Loki looked up at the moon. It would be full in two days time. So little time. Svadilfari was humming and playing with his hair. It was that jotunn song again. He must have picked it up from Loki. 

“Goats,” said Loki suddenly. “We shall keep goats. For the milk, you see. They’ll be easier to take care of than a cow, and eat much less. They’re smaller.”

“Are they? Goats smaller than cows,” said Svadilfari, humoring him. “And who will milk them? I suppose I’ll have to –”

“I will!” said Loki, pushing himself up from the bedroll. Svadilfari was laughing at him. 

“You, princess? You’ve never worked a day in your life,” he said, “Your pretty fingers will blister.” 

Loki smiled secretively. No, not a day in his life. Not when he slogged through the mud pulling down a decrepit estate in Vanaheim and beat rats out of the moldering carpets. Not when he swept out stables for a place to sleep, or spent a season sheering sheep. Not when he dug wells, split kindling, tanned skins, put up fences, picked asphodel in endless fields of gold for men pretending to be gods.

“I will,” said Loki, “for you. I will do it.”

“A princess turned milkmaid?” Svadilfari sat up next to him. “Living in a humble little cottage in the woods?”

“With two goats,” insisted Loki, and Svadilfari put his arms around him, laughing. 

“Aye, as you wish, and chickens, too. And a post and a line to hang out the washing.”

“And a garden,” said Loki, grasping for ideas. “For carrots. And peas. And tulips!”

Svadilfari kissed his hair and gathered him onto his lap. “Aye, and children, too.”

Loki stilled, swallowing hard, and closed his eyes. “A boy and a girl,” he said quietly. 

“A little girl just like her mother,” said Svadilfari. 

“No, not like me,” said Loki. “Like you. They’ll be like you. Good and beautiful, and honest.”

“Like your brother?” asked Svadilfari, and Loki pushed him away and reached for his clothes.

“Don’t talk about my brother,” he said, and gave him a quick smile to atone for the sharpness in his voice. “Not when I’m naked.”

The gown was simple enough, though his fingers fumbled pulling it over his head, and Svadilfari sat up behind him to help with the buttons. He pressed a kiss onto the back of Loki’s neck.

“Mend this rift between you and your brother, princess,” said Svadilfari. “It hangs like a dark cloud over you when you think of him, and the rage you summon up is terrifying. It is the quarrel you hate, not your brother.”

“What do you know about it?” snapped Loki. Svadilfari could not see him like this, not the angry, hateful, jealous Loki, not the Loki that wanted to tear down and burn things, the Loki who was made pitiful and wretched by Thor. He could not be that creature any more. 

Svadilfari lay back on the bedroll, his hands behind his head, staring up at the moon, and slowly, Loki came over to sit beside him. 

“I had a brother once,” said Svadilfari. “We were close as boys. We did everything together. We played, and hunted, and took our share of sound whippings for being horrible brats. I was young – we both were – but I was careless and proud, and thoughtless of what my actions might mean to others.” Svadilfari laughed, but it was hollow, and Loki pressed his finger against Svadilfari’s lips.

“Do not speak of this if it causes you pain,” he said, but Svadilfari shook his head, and took Loki’s hand, placing a kiss on the fingergtip.

“I must,” he said. “You should know what sort of man I truly am.”

“I hate the truth,” said Loki. “It is nothing but ugliness.” 

Laufey, Thor, father, _father, father…_ the despicable ugly world, friends who knifed him in the back, everything. But especially Loki. He was their ugliest truth, and look how they fawned and made much of him when he covered himself in lies. No one wanted truth. They preferred pretty lies.

“Perhaps,” said Svadilfari. “But perhaps we have not seen truth’s ultimate form yet. When we have finally risen above our crude selves, we will see how beautiful it is. Like you, princess.”

Loki shook his head, and pulled his knees up to his chin. “Go on, then.”

“I was young, and even more foolish,” said Svadilfari. “And though I loved my brother, I suppose I took him for granted. He was always there, aiding me, following me, quiet and slippery as little kitten feet, our Slip. Gentle Slip. I didn’t think to see he would have a life of his own, his own mind, his own wishes. I fell for a girl –” Loki brushed the grass irritably from the hem of his gown. – “not as pretty as you, princess. But pretty enough for a village girl, and I wanted her. And I had her.”

But Svadilfari’s face wasn’t that of a man remembering his first love. 

“I made boast of it – she was the belle of the county – and I greatly shamed her with my careless talk. My brother and I argued over that. He had been in love with her, too, for years it turned out, and his feelings were finer than mine. I had not known this, not cared to know. He accused me of hateful things, called me terrible names, and it grew heated. We came to blows, and I…. I did not know my own strength. When I came to, there was blood. So much blood. Our Slip….” 

He looked up at Loki whose throat had gone dry, and Loki smoothed his fingers over the man’s brow, not finding the right words. 

“You asked me once what hold the builder has over me,” said Svadilfari quietly. “My brother is…”

“Lost,” said Loki quickly, “Your brother is lost.”

Svadifari sighed. “Lost, aye. He is lost to me.”

“I am sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, princess. I am sorry that you have lain with such a wretch as me.”

“ _I_ am not sorry. I am not ashamed of you,” snarled Loki, bunching up his skirts to settle down next to him, and curled his fingers over Svadilfari’s face, gripping his chin tightly to make him look at Loki. “Don’t ever think that. I will kill the man who dares suggest that. And we will find your brother.”

“You are so fierce, princess,” said Svadilfari. “I forget sometimes that you are no kitten.” He sighed. “If he is to be found, it’s only in my hopes. But I must pay the price, if ever there was a price for such a vile deed. I must take my punishment, and bow my head under another man’s yoke.”

“Forever?” 

“I did not ask. It wasn’t a time for haggling.” Svadilfari gave him a weak smile.

“That cheating bastard!” hissed Loki. “He took advantage of your grief. And your goodness.”

“He gave me the strength of twenty horses. At least among them, I am king,” said Svadilfari with a laugh.

“That’s only fair. You are a man, and you are worth more than twenty horses! Of _course,_ you are king!”

“He is not such a terrible master to have, princess,” said Svadilfari mildly. “He is fair, and only expects fairness in return.”

Loki sighed. “Stop. I am not listening to this. I will win. And I will have you. Forever.”

“What is forever, my sweet?” asked Svadilfari. “There is only today, and today, and today.”

Loki snarled, and he felt his jotunn come upon him with a vengeance. But he was still a woman, and he pushed back his skirts and straddled Svadilfari. 

“Oh, shut up and kiss me, you fool.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki tries out a Turing test with his illusions.
> 
>  
> 
> [eta] 
> 
> Author's personal note:
> 
> You guys! You are getting WAY too perceptive in these comments! I'll get back to you soon, and I'll try not to blab spoilers in the process.
> 
> Also, thank you so much. Your comments and little heart buttons and you guys just _reading_ this fic means a lot to the writer-person behind the curtain. ♥


	6. You'll Always Have Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very serious warnings of "Graphic Depictions of Violence" added, as will result in "Major Character Death." 
> 
> Animal abuse will also be graphic.

The third full moon had come and gone, and as the following nights began its steady decline, the days went by too quickly. The crowds gathered to watch the builder and his horse multiplied, until, with the sliver of the old moon hanging over their heads, it seemed as though all of Asgard had turned out to see the outcome. 

At sunset before the last day, the builder put down his tools and loosed his horse. The last twelve stones sat in the yard. Tomorrow, they would go up and the wall would be finished.

All through the night, Thor paced his chambers like a caged lion, trying to keep a lid on his anger, but it kept bubbling up and brimming over. At dawn he knew he had to confront it at its source.

He found his way to the east wing of the palace and kicked open Loki’s door. Eric yelped, but Thor had no time for the servant boy. The mirror was swirling with smoke, and Loki stepped out. 

“You!” growled Thor, and rushed to grab him by the throat and pinned him to the wall.

“Why, brother, it’s good to see you, too.” Loki gave a breathless laugh. 

“I knew it! You fiend! The palace is in a panic, and you’re gallivanting around with your magics? The wall will be finished! Today! The whole court is in an uproar, you selfish brat! Do you know what trouble you’ve caused? How much distress?”

Loki’s hand curled around Thor’s. “How? By engaging a builder to finish our wall? How thoughtless of me. Let go of me, Thor, or I shall break your fingers.”

Snarling, Thor tossed him aside, and Loki landed on the bed, disheveled. He clutched his traveling cloak close to his woman’s body, but Thor could smell the heavy scent of sex clinging to him. Loki glared at him under his brows, daring him to say anything about it. He was hiding something. 

As Thor’s gaze cast about the room, the servant boy Eric crept into the room, and started laying out clothes on the bed, deliberately getting in Thor’s way. Loki got up, but not before Thor noticed. 

On the shelves books were lying on their side, doing a bad job of hiding the missing spaces. Selected and discarded clothing were thrown over chairs. The curved horn that usually rested on the bedside table was gone. And in a far corner, there was a dusty traveling bag, packed and ready to leave.

“Going somewhere?” growled Thor, and smoothly, Loki stood up and unfastened the clasp of his cloak and let it drop to the floor. 

He shimmied out of a thin cotton shift as he walked across the room, careless that he was naked in front of Thor, and Thor, unable to avert his eyes, stared at him, his woman’s body. The luscious curve of breast and the endless stretch of long slender leg, the faint hint of bruises adorning his hips, the thatch of dark hair between his legs, the stink of sex, semen dried to a trickle inside his thigh…. 

Thor shook his head, trying to hold on to his train of thought. 

“Mother has been sitting on pins and needles for months now. Father is beside himself –”

Loki cut him short with a laugh. “ _Father?_ Since when did you care about father’s well-being?”

“I have always cared! You think that because you’re father’s favorite now, I have ceased caring about this family?”

“Father’s favorite? Father’s _favorite?!_ ” Loki’s voice went shrill, and Thor recoiled to see such poisonous hatred flash across his face. “Because I look a pretty poppet, and father is gentle with me now, I am father’s favorite? Don’t make me laugh, Thor. I know exactly what father’s love for me is worth!”

But in a second, Loki had composed himself again, his face a blank mask. He took a lock of his long tangled black hair, and breathed in deep the bare skin of his shoulder and arm, closing his eyes as if he was carving into his mind the memory of that scent and what, or rather who, had put it on him, and Thor looked away and swallowed hard.

“Eric, I shall skip the bath for today,” said Loki softly, as he slipped into fresh underclothes. “My brother will help me dress. Leave us.” 

With a scowl, Eric smoothed out the green gown he had been shaking out of its tissue paper, and shoving it at Thor, he stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a thud. 

Perplexed at such venom from the little mouse, Thor held out the gown helplessly, and Loki stepped into it, and turned around in his hands. 

“That boy is becoming so difficult,” said Loki blithely. “Such rudeness to the first prince would never have been tolerated in Jotunheim. I should have him whipped if it wasn’t so amusing. Lace me up?”

He smiled over his shoulder as Thor fumbled with the ties in the back. The gown seemed to be sewn out of green and gold scales like a dragon’s armor. 

“Oh, Thor, you don’t think that because I wear a woman’s skirts that I have turned _stupid_ , do you?” asked Loki sweetly, coiling his hair up out of the way. “How exactly like a man. Tighter,” he ordered. “Where’s your strength now? I can barely feel it. Tighter! Or I shall have no waist!” 

Thor yanked at the corset draws and felt a grim satisfaction when, with an _oomph_ of expelled breath, Loki fell to his knees on a footstool. Between shallow gasps, Loki looked up at him through his hair. 

“Better,” he said, with a little laugh. “And here I thought the perfect Jarnsaxa had smoothed off all your rough edges.”

“Don’t –” Thor stopped, and with a heavy sigh, he knelt and let Loki put his arms around his neck, and helped him up. Drawn and pale, Loki gave him a horrible little smile.

“Tell me, Thor, do. What do I owe father? What do I owe him for the wasteland that was my childhood? What do I owe him for abandoning me to the likes of _Laufey?_ For making me his tool, then dangling power and rank and _respect_ like a special treat before my starving little jaws? At least in Jotunheim, my family despised me with a steadfast scorn.” His breath tickled Thor’s ear. “What you should be asking is, how should I pay him back? Why should I care if he and his lackeys are hopping like frogs on a hot iron skillet?”

From outside these chambers, Thor could hear the unease growing, the anger and excitement as, for the last time, the builder must be hitching his great steed to haul the last of the stones up to the wall. The buzzing of the gathered crowd carried deep into the heart of Gladsheim.

Thor’s grip tightened around Loki’s waist, and felt Loki’s body slacken in his arms.

“What have you planned, Loki? Tell me!” 

“Don’t shake me so, Thor,” said Loki faintly. “You’ll make me sick. Don’t worry about your precious family. I won’t do anything, not this time. I have better things with which to occupy myself, now.” 

Loki’s face was blank, the fury of a moment ago lost as his thoughts went wandering. To Thor, he looked dreadfully young and lost, his dark hair curling around his face, eyes looking out at nothing, tired and bloodshot. 

Settling down on the bed, Thor held him close, and felt how thin and frail Loki’s woman’s form was in his arms, for all the show of bold curves. He could get used to this, too. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing, do you, Loki?” he said finally, the lump in his throat burning. “You’re in over your head. Have we hurt you so much? We are your family now, and we love you. You feel slighted and neglected, and you wish to spread around a little misery. I don’t blame you. But this has gone far enough. Come back to us, and all will be well again. We will make it so.”

If Loki wished to be a woman, then all the better for it. The Vanir married siblings. To Hel with the builder. Thor would be king. So what if his strange brother was a woman now, that he reeked of another man, that he was playing his devious little games out of spite? 

“You’re packed to leave,” said Thor, in a sudden rush, and cupped one ample breast. “Let us leave together and not return until we are wed. We will deal with the fallout afterwards.”

Loki pulled away from him, the corners of his eyes crinkling with fondness, and then he leaned in to kiss Thor’s cheek. 

“Oh, Thor,” Loki said in a gentle whisper that Thor strained to hear. “When I look at you, so golden and generous, Asgard’s beloved son so showered from birth with love and kindness that they’ve shaped the very core of your being, I see everything worthy of a true prince… everything that was denied me, that should rightfully have been mine, and I _hate you so much_ that I could snuff the very life out of you.” 

Thor gripped his – her? – hips and harder to him. “Good,” said Thor roughly, biting down at the juncture of pale throat and shoulder to leave a mark. “I hear hatred’s the basis of many a solid marriage. We’ll do fine, then.”

Laughing silently, Loki shoved him off and sat up, reaching for the thin gold circlet at the bedside. This one had no horns, only a black netting veil, which he pulled over his face. 

“Why, Thor, you’re full of surprises,” said Loki. He glanced out the window at the crowds below, and took Thor’s hand in his own. “Enough of this meaningless talk. Come, brother. We shall watch the last of the wall go up together.”

\-------

But even Loki couldn’t manage to remain calm as the day pressed on, and one by one, the stones were hauled up by the builder’s great black horse and slotted into their final places on the wall. The days had become much shorter now than when the deal had first been struck, and the early evening sky was stained pink when the builder finally stopped for rest.

In the depths of the great golden hall, the Allfather paced, his heavy tread echoing like blows to the chest, as the court collectively held their breaths. Grim, he said little, pausing to drain cup after cup, and the queen did not stop him. 

Finally, he emerged, and looked over at the progress on the wall. For once, the gathered crowds did not cheer at the sight of the Allfather, so laden was the air with tension. Balder hovered at the sidelines with his retinue of white-beards and law-sayers, frantically consulting scrolls, and looked up, excited and worried.

Two massive blocks remained in the yard, and the builder looked up at the battlements and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He took a pause to bring a bucket of water for his horse, confident in his outcome.

“A tankard of ale for our master builder.” 

Odin’s voice was sonorous over the ramparts, and the master builder bowed, but he waved off the pageboy with the horn of ale. 

“Not yet, Allfather,” he said gruffly, and he nodded at the page. “I’m no’ counting my chickens, yet. You hold onto that, boy. I’ll drink myself merry at my wedding!” And he laughed aloud and returned to his horse before the sun began its inevitable descent into the hills.

The Allfather’s nostrils flared, and he tightened his grip on Gungnir as he whirled around and walked away from the edge.

“Ullr!” he hissed, hiding his ire in his beard. “Ullr! Kvasir! Where are those long-winded fools when I need them? Frigga!” Odin turned to his queen at his side. “No blasted _builder_ is getting my daughter! He’s not crawling up the throne of Asgard through her bed. He’s not touching my girl! I am the law!”

Frigga only gave him a hard look. “Odin, hush,” she said in a harsh whisper. “You cannot go back on your word. You are _king_. You are the law only so far as you uphold the law. Your throne promised marriage to this man, and he shall have it. We do not like it, but it must be.” 

Balder took hesitant a step toward him, but the Allfather gave him such a quelling look that he squeaked and turned aside. 

All the while, Loki was starting to look faint behind his veil. In the last hour, he had not let go of Thor’s hand as they had looked on, and his grip had become steadily painful. Worse, Thor noted, because his sharp fingers were digging into Thor’s palm, piercing them over and over again in a staccato rhythm. Almost as if he was counting something.

“Loki, what –” he started, but Loki shushed him quickly, as the edge of the sun touched the peaks of the horizon. 

The last two blocks were being hauled up, the crank of the pulley dragging down as half of Asgard collectively held their breaths. The sky was stained orange, and Loki’s gaze was fixed on the builder and his horse. 

Then it came, a crack, no louder than a boot stepping on a hazelnut. It came from inside the stone, and it spread, another crack then another, until it spread through the stone like a web and it crumbled. Instead of a giant block, a thousand pieces of gravel rained down on the yard.

Thor turned to Loki. 

“Did you –” he whispered, and Loki smothered a smile. Thor tried to keep his elation down. “Why, you sneaky little cheat. Did you spell those stones?"

“I am jotunn,” Loki said. “According to you Aesir, it’s only natural that I lie and I cheat. The final two would hold shape only in daylight, alas.”

“Loki –” started Thor, but he lost his words when the second block crumbled as well.

“Did you know, Thor,” said Loki, lightly, “that a binding verbal contract has no power if it is with a jotunn? A frost giant, to use the archaic term? After all, a frost giant cannot be a _person_. You cannot break your word with a jotunn, any more than with your dog or your horse because they are not _people_. Isn’t the law fascinating?” he finished with a sneer.

“But even you would not go so far as to raise a hand against the man,” said Thor. 

Loki gave a hollow laugh. “No, not even I.”

The murmuring from the crowd was rising, and above it all, the frustrated scream of the builder floated upwards. Odin gave a loud harrumph, and Loki turned to rush down the steps to claim his victory. 

“Svadilfari,” he murmured under his breath. 

Thor grabbed him by the wrist. “Loki, wait.”

The sun was sinking, bleeding red into the horizon, and the builder was unhitching his horse and pulling him toward the unshaped boulders from the quarry. The great horse reared and kicked, but the harness stayed on.

“No!” Loki called down at the builder. “The sun has set! It is over!”

“Not so, princess,” the builder shouted back. “The deal was until the sun rises tomorrow, not sunset today. I’ve got all night to keep working. Or did you forget?”

“What –?” whispered Loki, rooted to the spot. “Svadilfari….”

“Frigga!” shouted Odin, heedless of all gathered who were watching, and he brought Gungnir down as if he meant to pull down Gladsheim itself. 

But it wasn’t the queen who came running. It was Balder with an armful of scrolls. 

“I’ve got it, father! I’ve got it!” said Balder, rushed and out of breath, and his face was turning red from the exertion. “Not a princess. Not… He’s not….”

“What are you babbling about?” demanded Odin, and Balder thrust an open scroll in front of him.

“Loki,” gasped Balder. “He’s still officially prince of Asgard. Not princess. You never got around to changing it.”

Odin gave a sharp bark of laughter, and grabbing the scroll, he marched away from the ramparts. The court hurried after him. 

“But father, that man, if he wins he’ll still want a princess,” said Balder. “It’s only a technicality, a very slight one. If he chooses to contest it – ”

“I’ll give you a technicality,” said the Allfather, without a break in his stride. “Loki’s prince of Asgard, he was and forever will be, no matter what damn fool guise he’s put on. _Prince_ , not princess. That man wants a princess? I’ll give him a princess.”

And he reached out and grabbed a startled Freyja by the wrist. 

“Find something white,” he told her. “You’re getting married.” Odin thrust her hand into the air and called down to the yard. “Builder, finish the wall and join us to celebrate. You are marrying the princess Freyja!”

The builder looked up at him, and then gave a grim nod. “Aye, Allfather. _When_ I win. One wench is as good as another.”

“But father –” protested Balder.

“Father, no – !” protested Thor, and Frey grabbed hold of his sister’s hand. “No!” he cried. “You can’t do this. We’re under your protection. You can’t – ”

“No? I _can’t?!_ ” roared Odin, and yanked Freyja back to his side where she stumbled and fell on her knees. “She’s a princess. This is Asgard. And she will do as _I_ say! She’ll wed when I say she’ll wed! I am king! Fire up the ovens. Prepare for a feast! Meats! Cakes! Break out the best ale! Start the fireworks! The princess Freyja is getting married!”

“No!” wailed Frey, but his voice was drowned in the music that stared playing wildly, as Odin called for more food and spirits, and the astounded court broke into a wild gabble, and the stewards shouted the orders down the ranks and servants rushed to and fro to carry them out. 

With Freyja firmly in tow, the Allfather turned, as if the matter was settled and over. Wide-eyed and crazed, Frey fell upon Loki and shook him furiously by the shoulders.

“You did this,” hissed Frey. “You did this! This is all your doing, your pride, your jest, your bet! Why should _she_ have to pay for your mistake? What did my sister ever do to you? What did she do except befriend you? Is this how you pay her back?”

“I didn’t –” Loki looked sharply over at the wall. 

The light was fading, and the torches roared below in the yard, while inside the hall another manic song started up. Freyja looked around stunned, huddled next to Odin, trying desperately to tug free and failing. Fat tears rolled silently down her cheeks though she didn’t blink or say a word, stricken. 

“You didn’t what? Think? Plan ahead for this? Make a mistake?” Frey yelled at Loki, his voice breaking. “You can’t let this happen! Is this how you treat your friends? She’s my sister, damn you, my _sister!_ You can’t do this to us! We have nothing, we have _nothing_ but each other, and you take that away from us!”

“I’ll fix it, let go of me, I’ll fix everything, I’ll make it right –”

“You’ll pay for this, too, Loki! You’ve lost! You’ve lost, so why does _she_ have to pay?! What do _you_ have to lose? What do you ever have to lose? You care for _nothing!_ ”

Loki wrenched out of his grip and ran, desperation nipping at his heels.

“Loki, you little wretch, I’ll _kill_ you! I’ll wring your scrawny neck for this! I’ll kill you!” hollered Frey, but Loki didn’t turn, didn’t give him another look as he dashed down the curving steps and into the bailey.

 _Svadilfari, Freyja, Svadilfari…._

He couldn’t lose. There was one last trick up his sleeve.

He drew up his seið, willing it to keep him from drowning, pulling it out of the deepest reaches inside to make darkness light again, to bring chaos and upheaval to this intolerable order. And the seið responded, no mere transformation this, no shifting of shape to become falcon or hare or salmon, but something that ran deeper. It chimed, its will resonating through him like part of a greater, more binding spell already at work, and pulled him apart piece by piece, unmaking him from the inside out. 

And he changed again.

 

From the other side of the yard, a bay mare whinnied and beckoned, and the stallion lifted his head. 

He sniffed at the change in the wind and caught the scent, the undeniable, irresistible scent of a mare in heat, and instinct took over. 

Distracted and restless, the stallion kicked, upsetting the pulley and brought it crashing down on him and the builder, and it fell like matchsticks on the great horse. The builder roared, but the stallion paid no heed, and with another kick, it broke loose of the harness and ran chasing after the bay mare. 

The crowd who had been watching the turn of events, from the builder’s imminent victory to the sudden change in brides, laughed and shouted at this new twist, bringing the entire court scurrying outside to watch as well, as the builder scrambled after the stallion. 

The horse led him in circles around the yard, only to leave the furious man behind in the dust, as it galloped off to join the mare. 

Flicking her tail at the stallion, the mare sprinted out of the yard, and soon they were outside the city walls, the stallion fast behind her. Even as night fell, with only the light of the stars falling down, it was not difficult to follow the stallion’s pursuit as they raced out of the city.

Before they reached the seclusion of the hills, the stallion caught up with the bay mare, and screaming in triumph, the great horse mounted the mare and claimed his mate before all of Asgard.

\-------

He hurt all over, and it wasn’t all of it the good sort of ache. His head was threatening to split open, and gingerly Loki felt his forehead for the inevitable crack and felt a bump. Two bumps.

Beside him slept a giant of a man. _Svadilfari_ , his mind whispered, and he reached over to caress his shoulder and pressed a soft kiss on the man’s brow. Svadilfari stirred, his eyes fluttering awake. “Princess – ”

Svadilfari’s smile froze and dropped off his face. He sat up abruptly. 

“What _are_ you?” he demanded as he backed away, and Loki went still, raising his hands to calm him down. He wouldn’t calm down.

“Where’s the princess? What did you do to – ” Svadilfari’s eyes widened in shock, and slowly in recognition, but before Loki could speak, the light of dawn broke through the clearing. Loki yelped and rolled out of the way as a great black horse kicked out, shying away from his touch and dashing out into the glen. 

“Svadilfari, wait!” 

But he stopped when he saw the back of his hands. Loki jumped up to see the rest of himself. Ran his hands down his arms, his stomach, his legs, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He felt the bumps at his temples again. Bumps, on either side, where new horns would grow out. He was jotunn again.

Loki fell to his knees, sinking his fingers into the soft earth, and said a prayer to whoever had done this, whatever was listening. 

“Bless you, love, bless you for this. Thank you, thank you for my life.” 

And he wiped the wetness from the corner of his eyes and laughed. No wonder Svadilfari had been so startled. No wonder he had run. No matter. Loki could explain. Later. 

It was over. This horrible stifling trap of a nightmare was over, he was cured, he could leave now. He would find Svadilfari and explain, and they would leave Asgard. 

They had not been far from their tumbledown shelter, as if by instinct they were both drawn back to their nest. A shadow moved inside, and Loki veered away. 

He would come back for his things later. They would travel light. First he would find Svadilfari, break the spell, then explain – 

The scream of the stallion carried through the woods. Svadilfari was near. Across the stream, in the clearing that was laced with honeysuckle…. 

Remembering the first time he changed, Loki ignored the stepping stones and walked into the water. 

It was cool against his jotunn skin, coming up to his ankles, his knees, rising to his pelvis, and he felt it wash away his illness, his weakness, the twisted anger and frustration that had bound him to Asgard. He laughed and spread his fingers over the surface of the water and watched as the web of ice froze over, and he broke the crust and froze it again. 

A shadow fell over him.

“Loki –”

“Good-bye, Thor,” he said, not looking up. He concentrated on cracking the ice and pushing it out of his way to make his way out of the stream. 

The water pushed back and he swayed at the sudden force. From a distance, the horse screamed again, panicked and shrill, and Loki lost his footing and slipped, and his head submerged in water. The spike of panic made him weak, and the more he fought against the shallow waves, the more the water sapped him of strength. 

“Loki, I found the way through your mirror – ”

“Congratulations,” he snapped, stumbling again and swallowing water. In the distance, he could hear Svadilfari, frightened and angry.

Thor grabbed his wrist and pulled him out. He fell on the rounded stones on the bank, and scrambled to his feet again. “Svadilfari –”

Below in the sloping seclusion of the valley, the horse reared and screamed at its pursuers, who had caught up with him and looped ropes around his neck. They pulled him taut from four directions, and brought the great horse down to his knees. 

The master builder strode forward and brought down his crop, swaying from drinking through the night. More often, the builder missed the horse’s back and neck to hit his head, and the horse’s mane was a tangle of blood and dirt. He struggled to rise, and slipped to fall on his side and gave a monstrous bellow of pain.

“I promised that wench I’d give up the beast,” slurred the master builder. “She din’t say it be in one piece –”

“No –”

But Thor’s hand held him back. “You’ve won, Loki,” said Thor gruffly. “You’ve won, and he’s lost.”

“He can’t do this. I’ll break his legs, I’ll break every bone in his body. I’ll _kill_ him – ”

His feet slipped on the loose dirt, and Thor’s steel grip on him stopped his fall. “No, Loki. You cannot. You must not. You have given your _word_ to this man. Hold your peace. I will speak to him. I will ask him to stay his hand –”

Furious, Loki turned on him, his heart pounding out of his chest. He had one chance now. 

“Do you see that beast down there?” he hissed viciously. “That’s my lover. Yes, I love him. I love him. That animal –”

“You… that…” Thor stared at him, unbelieving. “No, of course, you’re lying. Of all the preposterous –”

“A horse, you say? He’s a better man than you’ll ever be. We’re leaving this place, he and I, and I’ll be… I’ll be whatever he wants me to be, I’ll be his wife, a simple man’s wife. We’ll have a cottage and children and I’ll be happy for once because I’ll be away from you. Away from all of you, and your mealy-mouthed platitudes, your holier-than-thou rules. Oh, didn’t I tell you before? I never loved you. I _despise_ you.”

“Stop… Loki –”

“What part of _I hate you_ do you not understand? What happened between us wasn’t real. It was never real. You were obsessed, infatuated, and I, I only wanted to be free of Jotunheim. I used you. I used you to free myself, and you fell for it. And you _keep falling_ for it? Don’t you see? I never wanted _you_. I wanted what you could give me, what I could take from you. And now, you don’t have anything I want anymore. I’ve found better things. I’ve found someone real, and better, and I have no more use for you. I never have to endure your clumsy groping again –”

Thor had fallen to his knees, head bowed to the ground as Loki heaped abuse upon him, not noticing that Loki was slowly backing away from him towards the clearing.

“I never was your family. You never really thought I was good enough. I was filth beneath your boots, some twisted, wicked child you could indulge, to show how benevolent and generous you were, then go off to pet and fondle in your dark corners. Let me tell you something, golden prince of Asgard. _You_. Wanted. _Me_. Your father’s bastard son. So, tell me, who’s the filth, now? Who’s base and dark and despicable? I hated it every time you took me. Every time you took me, I imagined you were someone else. I wished you were _father_ – ”

With a roar, Thor leapt for him. But it wasn’t Thor who attacked; it was the berserker, and the illusion of Loki before him vanished. 

Mjölnir flew into his hand, and when she next landed, it was to fell the trees around him. The men in the clearing looked up, frightened, and they let go of the ropes to run. But they weren’t fast enough to get out of the way of the Thunderer, and their bodies went down in a heap. 

With a snarl, the master builder threw aside his wineskin and charged at Thor with his crop, swatting at him like reeds upon a boulder. But in a seemingly effortless arc, the hammer came down again, and the master builder was knocked to the ground. 

Thor didn’t stop there. He was too far gone to stop, and he threw aside the hammer to beat the man with his bare hands. 

In the silence of the morning, ribs cracked and the master builder fell, both arms broken, his skull crushed under the unrelenting blows, the grey slop of his brains splattering the dirt and the fluffy heads of late dandelions, and Thor would not stop, not when there was nothing left of the man but a sickening pile of meat and splinted bone.

In murderous glory, Mjölnir came singing back to him, and Loki appeared through the trees, to give the word to stop Thor before he went further. 

But as Thor raised his hammer again, a gnarled hand held Loki back firmly, and Loki whirled around. “Let go –” 

The horse was screaming again, the smell of blood flooding his nostrils, as he struggled to shake free the blood-soaked ropes, and he lunged at the sudden furious movement of a mindless Thor. 

And Svadilfari rose one last time before Thor swung Mjölnir. Then, the great horse fell, his powerful neck broken like a giant oak in a storm, and his chest caved in, spilling out his heart’s blood onto the dew-flecked grass.

Ravens flew up from the clearing, and Thor shook his head, blinking into awareness. The horror of what he had done crept upon him slowly as he looked around, and Mjölnir fell from his hand. From behind the shade of birch trees, the Allfather let loose his grip on Loki’s arm. 

“That beast…” said Odin grimly. “That _thing_ raped my daughter.”

Loki had no strength left to scream. A deafening silence filled his head, as he staggered to where the broken body of the horse lay and fell to his knees. 

He opened his mouth, but no words were left, and once so easily brought to tears, his eyes were dry and stinging, as he fell forward into the pool of blood and vanished into his own reflection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author apologizes for the amount of pain and violence in this chapter. Please bear with us, as headquarters is a firm believer in happy endings. And also, Sleipnir.


	7. Sharper than a Serpent’s Tooth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Graphic Depictions of Violence" tag is not going away. Now includes self-harm. Please be warned.
> 
> Chapter title is from _King Lear_.

Three people visited Thor in prison. His father was not one of them.

The Allfather could not be seen as partial, though the law-sayers were already in favor of leniency. They could wink and look the other way. Odin had but one eye, and it gazed cold and stern upon his own son, sterner and colder than if he had been the lowest of Asgard’s citizenry. 

The first visitor was Balder. 

He made a distressed sound when he saw the state Thor was in, filthy, haggard, kneeling on the stone floor of his cell, head bowed. His golden mane was browned with dried blood, as was his arms and armor, with bits of bone and squishy grey stuff whose provenance Balder did not wish to know. He handed Thor his own unicorn skin cloak through the bars.

“Here, wipe it off, brother,” said Balder. “Didn’t they let you wash, or give you a change of clothing? They can’t mistreat prisoners like this. And you’re not convicted of anything yet. The ink has barely dried on ‘suspect.’”

Thor gave a hollow laugh. “And who would doubt it, Balder? Who would ever doubt that _I_ was the one who murdered that innocent man? A man who was bound in oath, and protected by his word, to the throne of Asgard? Look at me. No, don’t look away. Look at me! I am guilty!”

“Is that why you keep yourself filthy? As some sort of grand gesture of guilt? Oh, _piffle._ ” 

Balder called for the warden to open the doors to the cell, and pulling him up on the stone bench, proceeded to wipe him off. The unicorn pelt absorbed the filth, and soon Thor’s face was shining from beneath the layers of grime. He looked tired and bereft.

“I _am_ guilty, Balder, no matter how you try to wriggle me out of this with your laws,” said Thor. “And there is another. The beast. I killed him, too. There’s more to that, I haven’t seen his other form, but – by the Nine, you gave that beast a proper burial, didn’t you? You didn’t let it get carted away to the knackers? Don’t tell me some _dog_ is making a meal out of – ” 

“Calm down, Thor! Don’t get so melodramatic.” 

Balder grabbed Thor by the shoulder and made him sit. He nodded to the warden, who had been peering around the corner, to bring in the tray of food and drink, and he poured the warm tea into a bowl. 

“Here, drink this. It will calm you,” he said, and wiped more crusted blood off Thor’s armor. 

“Yes, Thor, we know about the horse. Or the man, as it were. That’s just it. He was bespelled. That much was clear on the body. You struck down the man who was horribly abusing his animal –”

“It wasn’t an animal!”

“We know, we know,” said Balder, handing him a piece of bread with cheese to shut him up. “Or at least, that’s what we found out. So, here’s the thing. Not only was the dreadful man mistreating his beast, it turns out he’d spelled a man into taking a beast’s form. He’d _enslaved_ him. Awful, _awful_. We can’t condone slavery in Asgard. So, you found out about this and flew into a rage –”

“That’s _not_ what happened –”

“Shut up, Thor,” snapped Balder. “This is what we’re saying happened. Not only did you find out this horrible man had bespelled another man, an Asgardian citizen, by the way, and made him his slave by turning him into a beast, you see him brutally mistreating him, and your sense of justice is enflamed –”

“What lies are you concocting, brother?” said Thor with a weary sigh. 

“ – and the Berserker is unleashed. You can’t be held accountable for the Berserker. He is not you. The law-sayers have already decided upon _that_. That part of you was made, at great sacrifice to your own person, to be a tool of Asgard. And if the Berserker rose up – subconsciously, I must insist – to defend the _values_ that Asgard holds dear…. Well, we can’t hold _you_ responsible for that.”

“No? No?” growled Thor. “Truth twisted in the service of wrong is worse than a lie, Balder. You’re arguing that I’m not responsible? What am I, a mindless tool? Some weapon that has no will of its own?”

“Yes! Yes, that is precisely what I am saying, Thor. If it saves you from a hanging, then _yes_ , that is _exactly_ what you will be for the duration of this trial. We both know the truth, father knows the truth, even that wretch Loki knows the truth –”

“Loki?” Thor’s head jerked up. “He knows I killed that beast… the man…. Ask him to forgive me. I didn’t know. I _didn’t know_.”

“ _Exactly_ , Thor. You didn’t know. You didn’t know what you were doing. You were possessed by the Berserker, and the Berserker knew the gross injustices being played out before your eyes. It brought a terrible crime to light – ”

“Where is he, Balder? Does he hate me for this? Is that why he refuses to see me?”

“I. Don’t. Know,” grinded out Balder. “He's fled like a thief in the night, like a snake. He just slithered out, the same as when he arrived. No one’s seen hide or hair of him, and good riddance, too.”

“Don’t—” Thor stopped himself at the terrible look on Balder’s usually mild face. 

“Don’t give me that, Thor. We all know who _really_ did this, who set the Berserker on that man, and it wasn’t the horse.” Balder scowled, and taking a savage bite out of a piece of bread, chewed furiously to calm down. 

“I would have woven the whole case on the thread that _he_ did it, Loki, all of it – it was awfully convenient, and would have let us off, scot-free. But father wouldn’t let me. I don’t see why either of you make so much of him. _I_ never believed for a moment that he was really our brother. The lies, the trickery, and that smarmy butter-won’t-melt-in-your-mouth attitude. Then turning into a _woman_ on top of all that. He just wasn’t the right sort. I suppose it’s only natural, though. I mean, he’s a _jotunn_. Well, I hope this serves a lesson to you.”

Whatever lesson that was seemed to be lost on Thor, who hid his face in his hands, and made a choked muffled sound. He could have been laughing, the way you did when you could not find the strength to weep. 

“By the by, that’s the real corker in this case,” said Balder, brushing the crumbs off his knee as he stood up. “It was quite a coup on Ullr’s part, finding this out, the jotunn angle.”

He wiped one last stain off Thor’s hand, the unicorn pelt soaking up the dried blood before returning to its pristine, sparkling white. 

Thor looked up, bewildered.

“The builder,” explained Balder. “The master builder who was so unfortunately caught in the way? It turns out, he wasn’t a man after all. He was a jotunn. A jotunn seiðmaðr. Holding an Asgardian bespelled and enslaved. The public won’t hold for that. We couldn’t have picked a better casualty if we tried.” Balder beamed, pleased with this piece of legal trumpery. “So, in any case, what oaths he held with the throne, they don’t hold, not with a jotunn. We win, we win, we win.”

Thor’s head sank back into his hands. This time, he truly wept.

\-------

For three days, a mass of blood and scars was huddled before the palace, crying for his mother, and the gates remained closed.

It was not, after all, jotunn blood that pooled like liquid rust around the wretched heap, and _mother_ was neither a jotunn word nor a jotunn sentiment. From the shadows slanting on the throne of the god-king, Laufey heard and turned his head away.

“You,” he said, twirling a languid finger at Helblindi. “Don’t you dare think of gathering that mess and bringing him inside. He’s not begged forgiveness, yet.”

The first prince of Jotunheim bowed low to his king’s wisdom, to hide his frown.

“I am not being heartless, Helblindi,” said Laufey, chewing idly on a piece of whale bone. “If he is to be a person of significance, more than an idle kept princeling, he must grow stronger. He will not thank us for coddling him. He will not thank us for seeing him when he is weak and pathetic. I will open my doors and accept him as son again when Loki is worthy. Not before.”

Helblindi bowed lower. “But what if he is not himself? What if my brother cannot beg forgiveness and stand before you to have his say because he has so lost his way that – ”

“Stop making up excuses, my son,” said Laufey. “You have no talent for dissembling. If Loki does not see fit to come before us, then he is not worthy of our attention. It is not love to stay your hand at the softness of rot, Helblindi, it is weakness. And in the end, he’ll hate you for your pity. Take note of that when you are king.” And the Laufey-king stood up and strode down the long audience hall. 

But even the Laufey-king did not have the steel to order the broken heap that was his son to be cast into the blue flames of hoarfrost, as was the custom for the maimed, disfigured, and mentally addled Jotnar who did not succeed in winning clemency from the throne. Secretly, he cursed Helblindi for being so slow-witted that he did not carry out the decree for his king, and he blessed him for it. 

On the morning of the fifth day, Loki was gone. Even the crimson Aesir blood that had stained the ice had been licked clean by scavengers in the night.

§

Somewhere, he was warm and cared for.

Somewhere out there, he was running blind, with wolves nipping at his heels.

Somewhere inside, a monster was eating its way out of him, faster than he could digest the monster first, and if he lost, it would hollow him out, lapping him clean of blood and organs before it cracked open his skull.

Somewhere, he held on, desperate to drive the spokes into his form, to stop shifting from woman, to boy, to jotunn, to beast, fox, seal, falcon, mare, to hold on to one form before all this seið could tear him apart and spread him to the elements, like glass, broken and grounded into fine dust, like ghostly spores from a dandelion. A field of white dandelions. 

He was back in the clearing again, smelling blood and raw meat, and seeing the spray of vital organs as they splattered across the grass. One clear, patient eye inside a broken head, watched him from the ground, before life left it and it stilled like glass, and shattered. 

But he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember the name, only that it had felt like the caress of a warm summer wind across his face. 

And he broke apart again, and screamed as his body pulled itself apart and mended again, building itself out of a thousand tears and scars, as the one bright thing inside held him down and kept him from fleeing to safety and peace, to losing himself in the vast forgiving ocean that was the seið. 

And a thousand times again, he walked back into the clearing and watched the spray of blood, heard the horse screaming until it rent the air and became ravens calling him home, and still he could not remember.

§

Loki woke to the snippet of a song. It was that jotunn song again that had plagued him for so long. He didn’t know any of the words, never had, only the melody. It brought to mind rocking, and someone hold him close and safe, and sucking on bits of meat softened by chewing.

But whoever was singing it knew the words. It was a child’s song, about a jotunn babe who drew an angel in the newly fallen snow, and played with him all night long, but when morning came, the winds came down from the north and blew the angel away. 

There was a thin blanket tangled at his side, and chilled, he pulled it over him. The chamber was bare and not very spacious, more like a cavern if not for the cold blue light slanting over his feet from a small window, but there was no heat. 

The stab of pain in his gut blinded him, and he forgot the song, the room, the cold, forgot everything but the terrible pain – if he could only tear it out, rip it out, pull it out, make it stop – he struggled, fought and scratched at hands that stopped him from stabbing at his own stomach, stopped him from reaching between his legs and pulling out the filthy little parasite before it ate away at his insides, before it reached his heart and – 

“Stop it! Stop this at once, you vicious little animal, stop it!” 

The hands fighting him were much stronger and claws dug into his wrists as they were yanked over his head and bound in a thin chain. Whoever it was held him down and climbed onto the pallet, straddling his thighs to stop him from kicking, and the claws drew sharp patterns across his abdomen, and slowly, pain ceased. The weight lifted, and his ankles were pulled wide. Fingers pried open his cunt and two more fingers entered him, probing. 

Hissing out a curse, he reared as far up as he could and spat. A sharp blow landed on his head, and all faded to soothing black.

When he came to, he stared wide-eyed at the Farbauti-king, who was wiping his hand clean on a white linen cloth. 

Farbauti saw he had regained consciousness, and narrowed his eyes. “What were you thinking, you little horror? You’ve gotten yourself with child, and you are in no state to carry it.” 

Loki tugged at the restraints on his wrists, and swallowed hard. “Will you kill me for that?”

“The child will do it first, with no blood on my hands,” said Farbauti coldly, but he looked away. “If you had only waited for Laufey – ”

“Let’s not lie to each other,” said Loki with a laugh. “It’s not worth the effort. Laufey wouldn’t have removed that spell, no matter what he promised. How could he keep me on a leash without a threat?”

“You _nasty_ , dreadful child!” hissed Farbauti. “Why must you be so _difficult?_ The remnants of Laufey’s spell have poisoned your flesh for too long, and you’ve shed the lines of his house from your skin as if they were worthless rags! They would have protected you. Have you no respect? Have you no consideration for your home, your ancestors, your family?” 

“For what?” sneered Loki. “For tossing me the scraps from your table? For every kick and slap and beating? For shoving me into the shadow of _your_ sons, when my _real_ father turned out to be a greater man than you could ever hope to be? I’d rather you’d left me to die, exposed to the elements when I was a babe, like the worthless flotsam you thought I was –”

“You ungrateful little viper!” screamed Farbauti, bristling with rage. “I wish I had! I wish I’d never brought you back, never convinced Laufey to keep you. I wish I had never picked you up from that altar –”

In an instant Farbauti’s hand was up, and Loki flinched. But the blow never landed.

“You….” 

But Loki stopped, and something small clicked deep inside him. But before he could make the connection, the pain jabbed him again, and his vision was flooded with red as he screamed and screamed. He didn’t feel the fetters cutting into his wrists.

“Father, please, there’s no time for this,” said a gentle voice, but it wasn’t the voice of summer. “He’s dying.”

_dying…_

“You _idiot_ ,” he heard Farbauti sneer. “This isn’t _your_ child he’s carrying. It never will be.”

“No,” said Helblindi. “But he will always be my brother.”

As the red cleared, he looked up to see the furrowed brow of his brother and the other parent he had spent so many years hating. Now, so tired that he thought his bones would melt away, it all seemed so futile, all that sharp fiery anger. 

“So, this child will kill me,” said Loki, in an empty voice. An odd deadened sort of peace had come over him all of a sudden. “Kill it first, then. Take it out of me. Get rid of it.” 

Farbauti drew in a sharp breath. Helblindi was shaking his head.

If he could go back to being a child, he would do it all over again. If he could go back and purge himself, slough off the sickliness and the deadness inside. If he could grow up again stronger, straighter, if he could untwist the child he had been…. 

Loki gave a hollow laugh. Then, he wouldn’t be himself. He wouldn’t be who he was now, and he wouldn’t erase himself for anything. 

“I can’t,” said Farbauti, finally. “It’s gotten hooks deep inside you. It should not be so, not so early on, but it’s as deep as….”

“As Laufey’s spell had been,” Loki finished for him. “So it is seið.”

Farbauti nodded. “You were always quite bright. Much brighter than this dullard, here,” he said, hitting Helblindi upside the back of his head. Helblindi rolled his eyes at his brother behind his father’s back. 

“You won’t slither your way out of this one,” said Farbauti. “You’ll have to see it to the end.”

“So, if I kill the child, I will die,” said Loki, angrily. “If I keep the child, it will kill me slowly, and I will die. Are those my only choices?”

Helblindi gave his father an odd look, and shook his head. “The Laufey-king refuses to see him,” he said. “He says Loki….” He avoided both their gazes, and stared down at the floor. 

“What?” demanded Loki impatiently. “What does the Laufey-king say about me?”

“He says that you are weak,” said Helblindi, and sighed heavily. “And that he will see you when you are strong again.” Helblindi slapped his hands helplessly against his thighs. “But you will not get any stronger without his guidance. I don’t understand. The Laufey-king loves my brother –”

Loki snorted, and Farbauti, with a sharp look at him, drew a long curved blade, and sliced open his fingertip. Looking over the pallet, he pressed the bleeding tip against Loki’s lower lip, drawing a dark smudge down his chin.

“And you, petty child, will nurse this grudge and willfully believe he does not care for you,” said Farbauti. “He does care, and you know that. Laufey happens to be horrible in the ways of showing it. You will be exactly the same. You already are. You,” he barked at Helblindi. “Hold him down.”

Loki instinctively moved to shake his brother off. “What are you doing?” he asked, but Loki already knew, and he felt the monster inside him cry out for the knife.

“Laufey’s not the only one with family,” said Farbauti, and let out a deep long-suffering sigh before he continued. “The ravages done to your body, I can mend. Your mind.…” He made a disdainful gesture. “Your mind is as diseased as it has ever been, and will grow steadily worse if you feed yourself your own poison.”

“You’ll _fix_ me, then?” sneered Loki, but he felt a stirring of hope. 

“I shall grant you the lines of my house,” said the Farbauti-king.

“You don’t have to restrain me,” said Loki quickly. “I won’t resist –”

“Your body will,” said Helblindi quietly, clamping one hand over Loki’s throat, and another over his pelvis. “And your mind is under enough strain. It will fight against itself, and the child will fight you. It is too much. This way, you can fight all you want.”

“The lines of my family will give you strength,” said the Farbauti-king. “They will ground you to our homeland, our fathers and our children, to our past and our many futures, for those who live on within you and your child. Do you accept them?”

Loki looked from Farbauti, brittle and quavering, to Helblindi’s sorrowful eyes, and shook his head furiously. “I mean, yes. _Yes!_ I accept!”

Helblindi smoothed his father’s hand and got up to lay thick towels on the pallet. Without being asked, Loki moved his legs out of the way.

“Brother,” said Helblindi. “You are allowed to scream.”

At first he didn’t, biting down on a piece rolled up linen, instead. Whatever this temporary truce, he couldn’t give the Farbauti-king the satisfaction. Hatred was a habit and it was hard to break, as was his pride. 

But as the knife curled through his skin, carving runes and lines, the waves of ancient storms and the great halls of Farbauti’s house, he screamed, screamed until he coughed up blood, and Farbauti continued, until his chest, down each limb, from his shoulders and along his spine, he was covered in scars, and the lines burned and blistered on his skin, burning blood and seið like poison.

In the end, his mind left the prison-house of his body to the monster nestling inside it, and wandered, searching desperately for the name, for the kindness and warmth of that past summer that felt like another life.

But his mind was already wiping clean the traces of that memory, as it tilted between remembering and forgetting, between madness and the blankness that was peace. His body racked with shivers, and his throat torn from screaming could only whimper.

“Thor?”

\-------

The trial was almost over, and its outcome predictable when Thor greeted his second visitor.

“You look terrible,” Jarnsaxa told him, and Thor gave him a sad smile. 

“I’ve been better.”

“I did not bring the child,” said Jarnsaxa, and Thor nodded.

“This is no place for him.”

“Asgard is no place for him,” said Jarnsaxa swallowing his bitterness, and he pulled his chair closer to the bars so his voice would not carry. 

“What are you saying?” demanded Thor. “Will you take the child away from me? I have declared myself the father. You said that is the jotunn way, and I have followed it. Magni will be no bastard. He has a place in line to the throne.”

“And that is what's best for him?” Jarnsaxa asked, his voice breaking. “Do you know what they are saying about you? About Magni?”

“His father is a murderer,” said Thor, shaking his head. “I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I cannot say how much – ”

“They are saying that you have scoured Asgard of its jotunn menace,” said Jarnsaxa quietly, as if he was reciting something he had read in the paper. “That you were right to murder that Hrimthur, as if he were a mad dog to be put down. That you cannot have fathered a half-jotunn child. That Magni’s whole existence is a _lie_. I fear for the child.”

“No one would dare touch him!” said Thor, but there was a sinking feeling in his gut. He had felt the change in the air, the brief shining cloth of acceptance fraying as old hatreds were aired throughout his trial, and tempers rose.

“Asgard is so eager to love you,” said Jarnsaxa, “that they do not care what they hate in order to show it. Or whom.”

“You cannot leave,” said Thor. “You cannot let them chase you out of your own home. Asgard _is_ your home. You’ve never known Jotunheim.”

“No,” said Jarnsaxa sadly. “I shall not. But perhaps it is best if I keep the child with me in the country. You are still his father. But Magni is mine. Even if you are not.”

“I –” 

“Don’t deny it. It cheapens what we had together. But I have not truly had you for some time. Your heart was elsewhere.”

Thor reached through the bars to put his hand over the jotunn’s. “Don’t speak of that. For that I have killed two innocent men. And the law-sayers are scurrying to wash my hands clean of all wrong-doing.”

“According to them, you have accidentally slaughtered a treacherous jotunn who was beating his horse.”

Thor made an angry sound. “It is a dirty and unjust law, and I shall bear the shame of it.”

“I know,” said Jarnsaxa. “But you must understand why I cannot let my child grow up in the midst of this, to hate his neighbors and imagine every man’s hand against him because of his difference, or to hate himself for not being exactly like them. You are welcome to visit when you are freed. The boy will miss his father.” He rose to leave, and for once the gentle smile on his face faltered. “Please do not bring your brothers with you. Either of them.”

\-------

There were good days, but they grew fewer and far between as the faint bulge in his abdomen became more rounded.

Some days he did nothing at all, though his brother led him out for long walks around the frozen lake as if he were an invalid. He was not weak, and he shook off his brother’s large hand impatiently. 

“Go away,” he would say petulantly. “I want Thor. You’re not him.” 

But Helblindi would shake him awake in the night, his face streaked with tears and garbling nonsense. 

“It’s only a dream,” Helblindi would say. “Don’t cry. It’s only a dream.”

“But why can’t I remember?” Loki asked plaintively, and he turned his back on Helblindi and willed himself to sleep so he could slip into the dream again. This time, this time, he would catch up to him, the tall dark man who smelled like summer grass, see his face, and maybe he could remember his name. But he never did.

On the better days, he curled up in his corner and tossed down page after page covered in indecipherable spidery writing. He asked for more books, and threw them at Helblindi’s head, claiming he brought the wrong ones. But he would read them anyway, scribbling furiously in the margins, and tearing out pages to stick them into his sheaf of papers. Helblindi asked him what he was writing.

“The usual,” said Loki carelessly. “Dirty limericks, recipes for custard, how to kill father. I’m bored.”

He had horrible cravings, and pleaded and cajoled until Helblindi took him out to hunt for elk. He brought down a heavily pregnant doe, tore the calf out of her belly, and slurped at its unformed bones, as Helblindi looked on horrified. No one killed a pregnant mother. 

“Not quite,” said Loki, wiping his bloodied mouth with the back of his hand. “This isn’t it.”

Pickled limes in a bowl of cut crystal arrived one day, along with a small jar of lingonberry jam, and Loki almost threw them both across the room. 

“I suppose the Laufey-king is sorry,” said Loki, before reaching for the long-handled fork and biting into a quarter of lime, brine dripping down his chin.

“The king is never _sorry_ ,” said Farbauti peevishly, drumming his fingers on the table. “Perhaps it is time you sought his favor again. Think of your position.”

“ _I_ am prince of Asgard,” said Loki. “He should seek _my_ favor.”

“You, a prince of Asgard?” sneered Farbauti. “Hiding away on this… what was it you called Jotunheim? A miserable chip of ice? Better yet, tell me who the father is. You can’t have the child grow up a bastard. Give me a name, and the Laufey-king will hunt him down.”

Loki looked away. His horns were growing in, not yet as long as they had once been, but Helblindi spent many an hour stroking their grooves and curves. 

“Perhaps it is Thor,” he said lightly, fighting the lurch of nausea. “Perhaps I am carrying the next king of Asgard, your next master. Perhaps you should approach the belly on your knees.”

“I think not,” said Farbauti, pursing his lips, but he turned on his heel and left, not daring to strike him, and Loki laughed at his back. 

The Laufey-king still refused to allow him into his august presence, but Bỳleistr came to visit with a dish of cured red meat. Loki was sick of whale, fresh whale, cured, dried, fricasseed, the whole lot of it, and he pounced on the thin slices ravenously, licking his fingers. The salt and iron of the blood was tantalizing on his tongue, and the monster inside was crooning with delight.

“Where is your Aesir lapdog?” he asked between bites, and Bỳleistr gave a careless shrug. He was watching Loki avidly, his eyes sparkling like a curious carrion’s. 

“I left it at home. Chained to the bed,” said Bỳleistr with a smirk, eyeing the long thin chains on Loki’s wrists. Scars had healed over and new ones were biting angry lines into his flesh. He still woke up in the night, trying to stab himself in the stomach, though the episodes had become less frequent lately. 

“I ordered it especially for you,” Bỳleistr was saying. “All the way from Asgard. Do you like it?”

Loki nodded, picking up the last pieces with his fingers. “What is it?”

“Horse,” said Bỳleistr, and Loki was on the floor retching. 

The pool of vomit touched his knees, vividly red as the yet undigested meat. The restraints tugged at his wrists as he stuck his fingers down his throat, and he screamed and threw up some more, the bitter stomach juices burning his throat, and his mind awash in blood again. 

He was hacking up in dry heaves as hands pulled him up and a wet cloth cleaned his face and fingers and hair. Some mad empty thing was screaming, and he itched to slit its throat so it would just _shut up_. Suddenly, he realized it was himself, and he stopped. 

He looked down at his hands. They were so red, dripping with red. They could not be his. Then, they were clean again, pale and bony.

“I knew it! I knew it,” cried Bỳleistr, and the Farbauti-king slapped him hard across the face. 

“What did you think you were doing?” he demanded, and Bỳleistr, still rocking from the blow, turned to his dam, his face alight with glee. 

“Just testing a wild rumor I heard,” said Bỳleistr. “From Asgard. Something about a magical horse and a lovely princess.” He crouched down next to Loki. “It seems the dirty little bitch got herself fucked by a horse in front of the whole city, and got herself in the family way. How _disgusting._ I would have paid in gold to have seen that. Did you hear anything like it when you were in Asgard, Loki?”

There was no knife within reach, but he grabbed the long-handled fork, and Bỳleistr leapt out of the way. He needn’t have bothered. Before anyone knew what was happening, Loki stabbed himself in the hand, slicing open his palms, and the blood gushed out from a torn artery.

Blood, the wrong color, the wrong blood. Helblindi grabbed his wrists and shook the fork out of his grip before he could stab himself in the stomach. 

“Let go!” he screamed. “Let go of me! It was me! I did it! I was the one who killed him. I killed – ”

But he blacked out before he could say.

§

The light was fading when he came to, and the room was devoid of smells. In the shadow, the Farbauti-king sat in Helblindi’s usual chair, looking out the window. His brothers were gone.

He tried to sit up, and realized the chain around his wrists were tightened, holding his wrists above his head. He started humming the jotunn song, and Farbauti turned to look at him wordlessly for a long time. Outside, the wolves started howling.

“You remember,” whispered Farbauti, narrowing his eyes.

“Not much. Only the song,” said Loki. “You were the one who sang it to me.” 

The Farbauti-king sat up straight, pulling the great speckled furs closer. “It was the only way to get you to sleep,” he said, with a sniff. “You were the most terrible baby. You just, wouldn’t, sleep. You cried for days and all through the nights, you demon child, you terrible, hateful, spiteful thing –” 

He shook his head and scowled at Loki, and Loki allowed himself a little smile. 

“You were sick half the time,” Farbauti went on, “and the other half, you were screaming and crying and throwing tantrums. You hated everything, the food, the blankets, your brothers, all the servants….”

“Except you.”

“Except me,” said Farbauti, and gave an exasperated sigh. “Do you see Laufey caring for a babe? He wouldn’t with Helblindi or Bỳleistr. Why would he with you? The man claimed he had an aversion to vomit. As if _I_ found the stuff naturally appealing!

“When you finally deigned to walk, you would run to me first. Of course, we weren’t sure whether you _would_ walk, being a half-breed Aesir. You couldn’t walk for months. I thought you were crippled from birth for how long it took. At least you weren’t a half-thing, blessed be Ymir and the frost.”

“Yes, of course,” said Loki, pulling himself up on the pallet. The bruises on his wrists were still fresh. “How remiss of me, being born a filthy half-breed Aesir.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, midget,” snapped Farbauti. “You started it, with your incessant questions about your father. Who was your real father? What was he like? When could you see him? Why couldn’t you live with your _real_ father? Do you know how deeply you wounded me, you ungrateful animal? Children.” Farbauti sighed. “Never have children. They use up your heart and then eat you alive from the inside, whether you give birth to them yourself or not.”

Loki gave a hollow laugh. “I think it’s too late for that warning.” He paused, looking down at his rounded stomach. He had no idea how many moons had passed, how long he had yet to wait. 

“I think I’m carrying a monster,” he said finally, but Farbauti just laughed at him. 

“Of course you are,” said Farbauti. “You are jotunn. All our children are monsters. You yourself are living proof of that.” But he would not meet Loki’s gaze.

“You know there’s something wrong, don’t you?” Loki asked. “You know this is no mere child I’m carrying.”

Farbauti sighed and shook his head. “I can do no more for you. I have healed what I can. Your body will yield no true births. You will always throw out monsters.”

“But you can,” insisted Loki. “My mind is starting to wander, and I cannot hide it much longer. When I slip further into madness –”

“Hush, child!” Farbauti said terribly, but Loki went on. 

“When I am too far gone into madness you must do one thing for me.” He reach to grab Farbauti’s wrists, wincing at the cuts on his own hands. “When you take this thing from my body,” said Loki, forcing Farbauti to look at him, “if it is deformed or monstrous in any way, promise me you will kill it.” He sighed. “I am afraid I will not be strong enough to do it myself.”

Farbauti gazed at him for a long time, and covered Loki’s hand with his.

“If you give birth to a monster,” said the Farbauti-king, “I promise you I will slit its throat myself. And yours next.”

Loki sank back on the pallet. For once his vision was clear, and his mind wonderfully blank. 

“Thank you. I will hold you to that,” said Loki, and shortly after, he fell into the merciful embrace of sleep.

Farbauti did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go. Have a nice weekend!


	8. We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki goes mad. Happily ever after (as promised). He gives birth. In whatever order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Sorry for the delay. But this last bit is 10,500 words, so I hope it's worth it.  
> * Chapter title is filched from Joan Didion.  
> 

 

The third, and last, person to visit Thor in prison was Hogun the Grim.

On the morrow Thor would hear his sentence, but he already knew the outcome and dreaded the freedom that would inevitably fall on his shoulders. He greeted Hogun with a somber tinge to his smile, and knelt on the stone floor under the window.

“This last night will be my vigil,” said Thor, “and I would be grateful if you would hold it with me.”

“What gods do the gods pray to?” Hogun asked.

“A joke,” said Thor. “You made a joke, my friend. This is a momentous occasion.”

“You will be freed,” said Hogun returning and equally grim smile. “It is cause for joy, not grief. Though you will excuse me if I don’t dance.”

Thor held his gaze. Hogun was a pious man who believed in repentance, but the grief he saw in Thor’s eyes were fresh as the first day, as if the wound were raw and would ever be, ever dampening his _joi de vivre_. Suddenly, he missed the young, impetuous, hot-headed man who was his friend.

“And what of the jotunn gods?” Hogun asked, kneeling next to Thor.

“It is different for them,” said Thor. “Jarn- someone told me once that the only eternal spirit of sort the Jotnar believed in was their land. That they were part of it, stepping forth from the ice, to spend time apart from it as persons, and then returning to it in an unbroken cycle. Death would be a return to the spirit of Jotunheimr to be reborn again. Jarnsaxa,” Thor managed the name this time, “didn’t put much stock in that. He was not very spiritual.”

“He was born in Asgard,” said Hogun. “Not so much ice here.” 

“You could have waited to see me when I was free,” said Thor. “Thank you, my friend.”

“Don’t be alone, Thor,” said Hogun. “Solitude, it curdles a man. It is not good for you. Especially not you.”

Hogun clasped his hand, and they bowed their heads to pray to the old gods, to their grandfathers and the spirits of the dead to shine their light upon the wronged and the innocent, for the souls who had gone to their ends frightened and pained to find their way beyond the great unknown. And they prayed for peace, and forgiveness.

When dawn broke, Hogun helped him up, their knees creaking, and Thor settled on the stone bench for the last time. The official word would come at noon, but his time was over.

Thor grunted and leaned back against the window, eyes hollowed out from the lack of sleep. A young boy entered with a loaf of black bread, a pinch of rock salt, and poured clear spring water into the earthen bowl. Thor tasted the salt with his thumb, and raised the bowl to his lips, draining it in one.

With a sidelong glance at Thor, Hogun broke a piece of the bread, crumbled it between his fingers and scattered the crumbs outside the window. A small flock of sparrows descended almost immediately. Thor broke into a more open smile this time, bright as the sun rising on the new day, and took to crumbling another piece of bread, as had been his habit for the past few months.

“I have news from our friend Fandral,” said Hogun quietly, feeding the birds. “He writes weekly about the wonders of Jotunheim.”

Thor’s hands stilled for a moment, but the sparrows hopped impatiently up to his window sill, demanding their breakfasts, and he brushed the crumbs off before they pecked them from his palms.

“Cheeky little buggers,” said Thor. “Fandral fancies himself a cunning spy in the jotunn court, sending vital intelligence back to Asgard. I hope you haven’t been encouraging him. He’ll freeze his nose off there. Or worse.”

Hogun gave a shrug. “Volstagg enjoys his lists of the dinner menus.”

“Volstagg imagines the plum sauce for the smoked boar means the troops are moving south.”

“Fandral adds a note,” Hogun went on. “It seems his efforts at intelligence have paid off. Finally.”

Thor laughed at the unintended joke, and Hogun put the letter down and waited. Thor was flinging bits of bread out the bars of his window now, too large to be crumbs, and larger birds were chasing the sparrows away.

“It is from that jotunn prince. You’re friends with a jotunn prince, aren’t you, Thor?”

Thor’s shoulders dropped. The flock at his window were shrill, fighting amongst themselves. He sighed. “Helblindi?”

Hogun shook his head. “No, the other one. The one Fandral ran off with.” He made a face, hissing through his teeth as if to imitate a rather nasty rodent, and Thor turned around to face him, perplexed.

“Byleistr? But why would _he_ be writing to me?”

“Byleister, that’s the one,” said Hogun, not looking at Thor. “Perhaps he thinks you should know that all is well. With his family. He repeats himself. Well in the family way. What a curious turn of phrase.”

“Is this about –?”

He brushed the crumbs from his hands and took the letter Hogun was holding out to him, squinting to decipher the jotunn script. He held it up to the morning light breaking in through the window, as if that would change the meaning of the cryptic words. “No…” he finally said, and Hogun could see a spark of life behind his eyes, as Thor seemed to shake off his weary pall.

“Well, then,” said Hogun, knowing that Thor understood. His task was done. Almost.

Thor slumped down next to him on the bench. He said nothing, clenching and unclenching his fists helplessly, and jumped to his feet again, pacing the room.

“Well, then,” repeated Hogun. “Will you go after him?”

“What?” Thor stopped and stared at him.

“You know where he is,” persisted Hogun. “In Jotunheim. Will you go fetch him?”

Thor looked away from Hogun and gazed warily at the door, as if he feared that someone would open it, as if he didn’t trust himself when it was open. Finally, Thor came back to the window. The birds had finished with the loaf, but a few were still here, hopping about in the gravel.

“Helblindi told me once,” said Thor, and seeing the puzzled look on Hogun’s face, added. “The elder jotunn prince, Helblindi. When we first traveled together to hunt down our brother. He said Loki would come home when he wanted to. It mattered not if we forced him because Loki would always slip away to do as he wished.” Thor regained his composure, and he said dully, as if repeating a lesson that had been beaten into him, “I was impulsive once, and selfish. I cannot be so now. Else, how can we learn from our mistakes?”

“Perhaps that is a wiser course,” said Hogun, and he got to his feet and pushed open the door to the cell, which had not been locked all night. Outside, the bells were ringing, and a pair of ravens took flight.

“But, Thor,” said Hogun. “A little impulsiveness. It is not such a bad thing in life.”

 

\-------

 

The voices outside were arguing.

They would kill him today. Take a blade of ice and slit his throat in the night. Cut the parasite out of his belly and snap its spine. Good riddance. It had eaten too much of him, bloated itself on his flesh, sucked the spirit from his blood. All he could do was lie here, bound, trapped, waiting to be slaughtered.

He willed himself to tug at the chains, in his mind, _forced_ his arms to struggle. But as in a miserable dream from which he could not wake, his body refused to obey him. His body had healed and grown lazy like an overfed cow, drugged on its own animal stupidity. It stretched languorously while his mind fluttered frantically and in vain, battering itself against the bars of its cage of flesh. He could hear the ice calling out to him again. _Come to us. Join us here, your time is ended._

“He’s here and he knows Loki is here,” mother was saying. “He wasn’t hoodwinked by Laufey’s charade. He knows we’re hiding him.” Mother was pacing, anxious, caged, fidgeting, frightened. He could hear the ice claws emerge and retract from his fingers. “You did it, didn’t you? You sent word to Asgard!”

“So what if I did?” screeched brother. So loud. He didn’t have to shout. “So the filthy bastard is prince of Asgard after all. Blessed be the ice that the Laufey-king wasn’t found harboring him, bold-faced in our court. How would Asgard have responded? What would have been their retribution? The Laufey-king was wise not to let him back. He _knew._ ”

“You presume to teach me politics, child?” said mother. “You have much to learn. What worth has power if it makes you craven? You would peddle your own blood for the _halfthings’_ favor? How can we be jotunn if we cower under the Aesir whip? What do we gain if we offer up our hearts on our backs?”

So the little one had given him away. Clever boy. He would miss him, his sharp, terrible, nasty little brother, the only one Loki could ever believe was truly related to him. His own flesh and blood. How he loathed him. He’d pluck his eyes out and wear them on his belt to remember him by.

“What does it matter? He’s off your hands, now,” said brother. “You would have had to kill him yourself. This way there is no shame of kin-slaying on your hands, father.”

Mother would have hit him, quick and nimble as brother was, because mother’s rage was as ever swift and terrifying, and brother would have fallen and cracked his head against the wall, if it weren’t for the heavy tread of footsteps, and a door slamming open against the wall. Guards, soldiers, warm flesh pulsing its heat in waves at the ice. Not jotunn flesh, then. Aesir.

“You know why I am here, Farbauti-king,” the Aesir said, and Loki’s mind gave a thrilled, delighted laugh. They had come for him.

The air stilled.

So they heard him outside, then, heard his laugh. It had pushed its way outside his mind. Did this mean his body was following orders again? Or had his mind become slave to his sluggish flesh?

“You have no right!” snarled mother. “You cannot do this!”

“I have every right. He is of my blood,” said the Aesir. “He shares no blood with you.”

“He bears the lines of my house,” said mother, but the Aesir pushed him aside, and entered the inner chamber where Loki writhed naked in his chains, his hands bound above his head and his knees splayed carelessly apart.

“What is the meaning of this?” growled the Aesir.

“He’s tried to kill himself. Several times. Or tried to harm the babe. Sometimes it’s both.” Mother’s voice was hollow as a ravine, and he closed his eyes and saw himself falling into its endless dark depths. “The chains are for his own protection. His mind has gone wandering and turned against himself.”

“Thor,” he rasped, straining for the Aesir. “I knew you’d find me.” His throat hurt from disuse, and silent laughter rolled out of him. “I wasn’t trying very hard to hide. Thor. _Please_ ,” he mewed piteously.

The Aesir swallowed hard and knelt beside him, breaking the chains easily with the hilt of his dagger, and lifted him gently into his arms. Pleased, Loki wriggled against him and rubbed his face against the rough bearded face like an affectionate cat, and rubbed his thighs together lewdly.

“Hello, prince,” Loki whispered in his ear. “Will you take me to your bed now? I’ve waited for so long.”

The great bull of a man stumbled at that, though Loki knew he was not very heavy. His belly was more rounded than before, but his elbows were sharp edges. So warm, and strong, and reassuring. A great cloak draped over him and Loki shifted, wrapping his arms around his neck, and closed his eyes, sighing in relief. “Take me home, Thor.”

“He’s not in his right mind. He is mad.”

“And what have I been saying thus far?” demanded mother, and breathed deeply to collect himself. “Will you do it? Is your hand steady enough to cut his throat?”

“What? _”_

“You cannot let him go on like this. You cannot let him be shamed when he does not know himself. He would not have wished it. I promised him a clean end.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, you vicious, dried-up hag. You’re just itching to strangle him yourself,” the voice rumbled out of a great barrel of a chest, and Loki purred against it. What a lovely volcano of righteous rage he was. Loki couldn’t wait to lie under him again, feel that rage deliciously hot and angry inside him, _punishing_ him. How utterly delicious this day was turning out to be.

“I promised him the honorable way out!”

“You proud, stupid, thick-headed jotunn! You take the easy way when you’ve broken your things, and you call it honor!” he was shouting now. “You kill your maimed and injured instead of caring for them. You expose your babes, you _murder_ your children.”

“It is _never_ the easy way, but it must be done!” cried mother, “The kiss of the knife is _never_ easy, but you stay your hand only if you haven’t enough love!”

“Nine Hels take your blasted _love!_ That’s not honor, that’s cowardice! What of the living? What of _life?”_

Loki shook his head and tried to burrow against the chestplate to block out all the shouting. It made his head hurt.

“Don’t cry, mother. Please, don’t cry,” he murmured and the voices stopped, as if they’d suddenly stopped breathing as well. He smiled at the looming form of the giant and reached blindly for him. “Give us a kiss farewell, mama, but not goodbye.”

For once in his life, Loki heard the Farbauti-king’s breath stutter in his throat, as if he was truly afraid. The Jotnar did not suffer the insane to live; they believed their spirits were half-wrenched from their mortal flesh, longing to join the ice again.

“See what he’s become,” said Farbauti harshly. “If you have any pity, you will end this. Give him a proper death, Allfather.”

“To Hel with you, all of you,” snarled Odin. “I’m taking my son home.” And holding the pitiful bundle close in his arms, the Allfather stepped out into the cold dark.

“Heimdall, open the Bifrost,” he roared into the wind.

 

\-------

 

Behind a copse of birches was a small house of blanched oak that gleamed in the dark as if it were made of bone. It was hidden in a secluded nook of the already secluded wildwoods of Gladsheim, and there was no path that curved toward it. But each day at dawn a man on horseback came to the edge and looked down the slope at the wingtip of the roof. And he turned his horse and rode away.

From the house he couldn’t be seen – the angles were all wrong – though one of the inhabitants raised his head, straining to hear the phantom hoofbeats.

He was sitting at the window as usual, and the servant boy crept closer, cradling the teapot as if it were a frightened puppy.

“Don’t lurk, Hlaði. You’re making me nervous,” Loki said without ire. The book had dropped from his fingers, and he gazed listlessly out the window, watching the dusk paint the sky every shade of rose and violet.

“It’s Eric, your luminous grace,” said the servant boy. “But you can call me Hlaði if you like,” he added.

“Don’t be absurd. Of course you’re not Hlaði. You’re Eric,” said Loki, and sat up straighter, pulling the furs up on his knees. “Pour us another cup, Eric.”

He listened to the gurgle of the tea filling in the quiet, and let the fragrant mist curl up to his face. The child had been restful today and content, and the day had been tranquil. His hand lay soothingly over his belly, and he hummed to the child. His child. His sweet, sweet babe.

“He’s not coming today.” said Eric in a sullen voice, “He’s not ever coming.”

“Hush, you little beast,” said Loki, cuffing him behind the ear. “I have a good feeling. He will come. Today will be the day.”

And he returned to gazing out the window until the last of the light was smudged out in the inky cover of night, and he fell asleep curled up in his chair and Eric came to tug him off to bed.

§

 

The young servant boy came out the back, his arms full of linens and slung with empty baskets, and he marched past the birches and tottered out of sight of the house. Some ways off, he followed the stream to the nearest path, where a bull of a man with a horribly scarred face sat in his cart, waiting with the day’s provisions. The boy scowled at him and pulled out a list and started reading from it.

“He wants liver – pig not cow. More of that tea with the little purple flowers in it. Custard, yellow Alançon peppers pickled with rosemary, fresh cherries, endive salad, roast eel, deer’s foot in brine –”

“Just give me the damn list,” growled the man, making a grab for the roll of paper, and the boy danced out of his way.

“And what will you do with a list? Eat it? There’s a list of books, too,” said Eric snottily. “Make sure you give it to someone who can actually read. A real scholar this time –”

“Why you rude little beggar. Who’d you think you are, giving orders to yer betters —”

His hand missed the boy’s head, but the boy howled anyway, and a pair of ravens flew out of a low-slung branch and circled over their heads, cawing wildly.

“Tsk, tsk, and I thought you wanted to remain in disguise, my dear.”

A matronly woman with a hamper over her arm came up the slope from the house and sighed heavily as she reached the peak before she began her descent. The boy turned and bowed deeply to her, his head touching the ground.

Then, sudden realization hitting him, he whirled around and stared at the man in the cart. The scars on his face seemed to be rearranging themselves, honing in to form one empty gouge where his right eye should have been.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, put your patch back on, Odin,” said the woman. “You’ll give the poor boy nightmares.”

On his perch on the cart, the Allfather grunted, but he pulled down a leather eye-patch seemingly out of thin air, and gave Eric a grisly smile. Eric squeaked and fell on his rump.

“How is he?” he asked his wife, clearly not asking about the servant boy.

Frigga, goddess of family and marriage, only gave him a hard look, pursed her lips and went to the back of the cart. Eric scuttled after her, his head bowed meekly, not daring to look at the Allfather again. She sorted through the boxes and baskets, the neatly folded linen and fresh clothing, and handed them to Eric.

“You’ll have to make another trip, lad,” she said kindly. “Off you go now.”

Finally, she turned to her husband, and gave him that smile that was really a frown. “As well as can be,” she said. “Well fed, humming, biddable. He goes for walks in the woods. He sleeps. He talks to himself. T’is a sweet house you built. Will you not go see him?”

“No, no.” Odin shuffled in his seat and scratched his beard. “That wouldn’t be right. We’ll just leave things be. Things are settling nicely now. So, he’s well, then. Good.”

“Odin.” Frigga pulled herself up with a huff. “The boy thinks you _despise_ him. He thinks you hate him –”

“Why would he think a damn fool thing like that?” roared the Allfather. “I brought him home, didn’t I? Why should I hate him? I’m his _father._ What sort of father hates his son? What sort of damn nonsense is that?”

“Then, say it. Go tell him that. Tell him you love him,” said Frigga, putting a gentling hand on her husband’s arm. Odin pulled away, but his anger dropped off his face like a paper mask, and the face underneath crumpled up with sorrow.

“I don’t have to tell him that. He should _know_ that already. Of all the weak-minded, addle-pated drivel….”

And with a sharp flick of the reins, the cart rattled away at a furious pace, and the Allfather hunched up his shoulders and ignored his wife calling after him.

“Odin! At least leave us the cured oxtail!” But the wheels bumped loudly on the gravel and drowned out her voice.

Eric came skipping down the hill, and stopped when he saw the cart had gone. “But –”

Frigga urged him on the path. “Go after him, before he’s all the way back at the palace again. Go.” And Eric scrambled down the dirt path in the wake of dust. But he didn’t have to run for long.

The Allfather had not gone far before he realized his mistake. Just as he reined in the fat pony, he saw a figure on horseback coming down his way. The rider caught sight of him at the same time, and pulled his horse up short. It danced nervously in place, and the rider made as if to turn around. Odin gave a bark of laughter.

“Couldn’t wait to pounce on your brother’s arse again, could you?” said the Allfather, and Thor glared at him, fuming, but held his tongue. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“He is well?” Thor bit out, evidently not relishing beating his own father on open grounds. “You have seen that he is well?”

Odin gave a careless shrug to that, and Thor’s eyes bulged, but he swallowed his temper.

“Get down there,” Odin told him. “He needs company.”

“If he is well, then I am content,” said Thor. “I will not force my unwelcome presence on anyone.”

Odin snarled at him. “Stop pussyfooting around, you blithering idiot. Did they take your manhood in that prison or just your wits?”

Thor snarled right back at him. “I don’t see you paying any visits,” he snapped. “You heartless, selfish, terrible old man. When did you ever care? What does it matter to you?”

And the two glared at each other, until Eric caught up, and made a little cough and quietly grabbed the things off the back of the cart.

“You get down there, Thor,” said Odin gruffly. “Stop bleating and wringing your hands like some gormless dickless monk, and keep your brother company till the babe is ready to drop. Keep him happy, and keep him sane, do you hear me? Don’t go upsetting him, or rage at him like you’re wont to – don’t you dare interrupt! – and don’t you dare push him over the edge. If he says you’re a maypost, then you braid your hair with ribbons and dance a jig. You have one job to do, Thor. Make sure you do it right this time. Do you understand me?”

Thor’s face was furious, torn between throwing his father down from the cart and throttling him, and doing exactly as he was told. Yanking at the reins, he didn’t know whether to turn around or urge his horse onward, and the Allfather laughed at him.

“To Hel with you, old man,” growled Thor, and he put spurs to his horse, racing past Eric, past Frigga, until he reached the grove. There, at the door of the small white house, he alighted, and tossing his reins carelessly back, he crossed the threshold.

From the window sweat, a cup fell to the floor, breaking and spilling tea, and a figure draped in furs and blankets stood abruptly, upending a lapful of cats who went darting for the corners angrily. He was lanky but for the awkward bulge he was half-cradling, half-hiding with one arm as if in shame, and he hesitated, searching Thor’s face for a reaction, a response, before he caved to his own impatience and rushed to him, spindly arms wound around Thor’s neck, dry, chapped lips pressed eagerly to his neck.

“You’ve come back,” said Loki. “I knew you’d come back.”

And Thor closed his eyes, the unbearable weight lifted from his chest, the weariness, the loneliness, the futile rage of the past year trickling away as he held onto him, a soothing, heartening, familiar yet utterly strange shape now, when Loki whispered in his ear.

“Svadilfari….”

§

There were lucid days. And then, there were days when Loki called him by his name.

Loki was scribbling away madly in his corner – no, not _madly_ – furiously, without stopping, anything but that terrible word, and Thor had just opened the door to Balder, who held up a box of cakes.

“Is this a bad time?” 

Loki pushed Thor aside and linking his arm in Balder’s waltzed past him into the coziest nook facing the garden.

“Are those walnut cakes? Then it’s never a bad time. Did you bring the brandy?” Loki asked Balder in loud whisper, as Thor bellowed from the kitchen, “No. No drinking for you!”

“Did I say _brandy_?” said Loki innocently, “Hmmm, I must have meant _book_. You know how I am for books, Thor, darling, dearest, sweetheart, monkeyfins.” He rolled his eyes at Balder and mouthed ‘brandy’ and ‘later’ at him. “He’s such a mother hen, so boring you wouldn’t believe it. Always hovering, nag nag nag.”

“Oh, I believe it,” said Balder, wrinkling his nose. “I grew up with the plodding sod. He wasn’t very fun to play with then, either.”

“Oh, Balder, Balder,” crooned Loki. “Nobody understands my plight as you do, tied down to this dreary smothering lummox for life. You must rescue me. We shall run away together, and get peach pickled drunk by the barrel in a disreputable tavern, with only the foulest rot gut on tap. I insist upon it.”

Balder only laughed and helped put Loki’s feet up on an ottoman, and Loki patted the cushion on Thor’s chair and gave it away to his brother.

“Well, isn’t this nice?” said Balder, looking around admiringly. “I’d like a sweet place of my own like this when I’m married, full of books and music and nice comfy chairs. And cats. What a lovely shelf,” he said, pointing out the bookcase. “And just within reach of the windowseat, too. How thoughtful.”

“Thor did that himself,” said Loki smugly. “He used Mjölnir.” And the two of them snickered like children.

Thor only rolled his eyes and waved at Eric to bring in the cakes and tea. For himself, he poured a large goblet with mead so strong the fumes would disintegrate his nose hairs, and took a large burning swig of it. He made a grimace over the brim at Loki, who sneered back at him but turned it into a sweet smile for Balder.

“When Thor was courting me in Jotunheim, I thought I was marrying a prince,” said Loki. “And then, he brings me to this humble little cottage in the woods. Never believe the lies of men, Balder.”

“But you _are_ happy, aren’t you?” asked Balder, hiding his own anxious turn.

“Oh, yes, deliriously happy,” said Loki distractedly, ducking his head and playing with the folds of his napkin. “So, tell me all the news. Will they build the bridge over the Ogilvy gorge? Did the Thrangor clan offer a plummy bribe? I hope you took a third of it, and sent the rest back. It’s better for record-keeping that way.”

“Yes, of course,” said Balder, “and the bribe is inventoried with a stock receipt as well. That will be handy later in the year. By the by, did you hear that Freyja is married now?”

Loki laughed. “She must be so angry with me,” he said. “I wasn’t invited to the wedding.”

“No one was,” said Balder, and he lowered his voice. “No one’s seen hide or hair of her husband, either. This mysterious Oðr. We’re not quite certain he actually exists.”

“But of course he exists,” said Loki. “It’s Frey, isn’t it? It always is. Oh, dear. Was that very uncouth of me to say? You do not marry your siblings in Asgard.” And he laughed long and hard until his laughter took on a hysterical tinge. Thor grabbed Balder by the arm, threatening to throw him out, but Loki stopped him, shaking his head.

“No, don’t,” he said, breathless and mad. “What has that to do with us? I am not so fragile as that.”

He took Thor’s hands and led him to a chair, and carefully settled down on Thor’s lap, mindful of his own prominent belly and paying no heed to Balder, who was staring at the two of them, frightened and still.

“So, Freyja has married a man who does not exist,” said Loki, playing with a lock of Thor’s hair and braiding it down the side of his face. “And I have you, and I have our child, and we shall be happy as kings forever and ever. Why do you look at me like that? Are you feeling quite well, Thor? Perhaps you shouldn’t drink during the day. Your nose has turned a very unattractive shade of red. If you get any uglier than you already are I shan’t lie with you any more.” And he leaned down to steal a kiss from Thor’s silent lips. “Mmm, I wish you’d had brandy instead.”

§

Loki was working on his book, he said. He spent hours writing, crossing out lines, throwing pages into the fire, only to pull them out of the flames a few seconds later, not caring that he burned himself.

“What is it about?” Thor asked, and Loki gave him a long supercilious look down his nose, and sniffed.

“Magic,” he said, in a tone that clearly meant Thor was too stupid to understand anything more complex than that. These were the times Thor could go along with the farce and imagine they were together, simply and happily in a long march of quiet and uneventful days. He made Loki a writing tray so he could scribble away in his comfortable chair with his feet propped up, and Eric brought in the first mayflowers and put them in little glass jars around the house where they caught scraps of rainbows.

When Thor picked out a partially torn paper from the grate, it was mostly gibberish and baby names and curses so vile they burned the paper to ashes in his fingers.

§

At first Thor slept in a cot on the other side of the bedroom, while Eric slept in the other corner. That was before Loki woke up screaming in the night.

“What is it? What is it?” yelled Thor, still half asleep as Mjölnir flew into his hand. Eric went running for the kitchen, and came scurrying back with water and a cloth. He was already perched on the bed, wiping the cold sweat from Loki’s brow.

“Nothing,” gasped Loki. “It’s nothing, nothing of importance.”

He clung to Thor, desperate and blind in the darkness, and Thor felt his bony fingers slip under Thor’s shirt and graze over the hairs leading down to his groin. His breathing calmed as Thor rubbed soothing circles into the small of his back. Even round and heavy with the babe, he could feel the knobs of Loki’s spine jutting out, like the skeleton of a monster that was lying dormant under his skin. He was a strange mix of jotunn and Aesir now; as the pregnancy proceeded, his horns had come out in full view upon his pale forehead.

A hand slipped lower and Thor felt his cock spring to alertness. Loki leaned in, his silent laughter tickling Thor’s ear. “I’ve waited too long for this.”

Thor instinctively jerked away, aware of Eric who was kneeling on the other side, dabbing at Loki’s skin with a cloth and shooting hateful looks at Thor.

“Stay,” murmured Loki. “I want you.”

“Here?”

“No, out in the garden, you dullard.” Loki pushed him down on the bed impatiently. “Yes, here, and yes, now. Do you need a timestamp as well? Do we have a clock nearby –”

“What about Eric?” interrupted Thor. His heart was pounding in his head at the sudden turn of events, though Mjölnir did not seem surprised at all, purring as she was happily on the dimple she made on bed. Loki’s horns rose demonically in the pale moonlight, in contrast to the taut rounded belly under the thin night shirt.

“You want Eric?” asked Loki. “He’s too young for this, but if you wish it –”

“No!” said Thor, and growled, “Get out, boy!” as he rolled Loki onto his back, and quickly pulled the night shirt off over his head. His belly was bigger now, rounder, and Thor ran his hands over the pale skin. He was like the moon, full to bursting with stars, and Thor trailed wet kisses down the side.

“You smell of roses. Why do you smell like roses?”

“It’s the silly cream,” said Loki lazily, guiding one hand to his cock instead. “I thought stretch marks would look interesting on me, but Eric didn’t like the idea.”

“Don’t say his name, not when we’re like this,” growled Thor, kneeling between his legs, stroking the angry cock that jutted against the full belly. “Don’t ever… not in bed.”

“What, Eric?” said Loki and laughed at him. “Eric, Eric, Eric,” he sang. “ _ohhh_ … _Eric_.”

“Enough,” said Thor. “You’ll give the child a fright. He can probably hear you. Will this hurt the babe?”

“What are you babbling about now?” Impatiently Loki took himself in his own hands, and his breathing quickened as he stroked himself. “Oh, the little monster. Didn’t you know? This is how, you make midgets. When you fuck, after the babe, has taken root. You get a little one, extra.”

He was chortling into the pillow as Thor nudged him to his side and lay down behind him, placing a kiss behind his ear. “And you, a part giant,” said Thor, shaking his head. He slipped a finger inside, the muscle clenching tightly around him, and stretched it slowly to add another. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m a … wonderful liar… _haah._ ” Loki arched back into him as he hit a spot, and looked over his shoulder. “No, fuck me in my cunt. I want a midget.”

“No,” said Thor, and Loki stifled a groan as Thor pushed in, seating his full length into that unbearably tight grip, feeling the wonderful warmth of him, how this body wanted him, craved him, yearned for him after all this time. “You’ll like this better.”

“No, I want you, to fuck, my cunt,” said Loki, with a breathless laugh as Thor rutted in shallow thrusts against him, and reached to finger the little nub, palm the soft wrinkled sacs and fondle them, stroke his own cock slicked with his own wetness. “Your father ordered you, to please me. So _please_ me.”

“Shut up,” said Thor, pulling back to slam in harder this time. “About _father_.”

His pace was faster now, though he held back, angling his thrusts so Loki mewled obscenely into the sheets, and his hands met Loki’s around his cock as he came, shaking and spilling hot and white on his fingers. He stilled, shivering from his pleasure, and Thor kept up his steady rhythm, pounding into him. He wished he could see Loki’s face, and kissed the nape of his neck instead, the corner of his jaw, his shoulder blades, and circled the flat of a nipple with a finger sticky with seed.

“Why don’t you have breasts?” Thor asked, and Loki pushed his hips back to take in more, contradictory creature, as his shoulders curled to get away from him, too sensitive to touch, and laughed, incredulous, and with a groan fell on his back. Thor sat up and pushed Loki’s knees up and shoved inside again.

“Harder you fool,” Loki gasped. “I can barely feel it. All those years of taking a giant’s dick. Did you _shrink?_ ”

Thor didn’t want to think, only to feel, to take his pleasure and give it, and lose himself in this moment until it flowed over everything before this, all that came after this. Loki moaned loudly with every thrust, louder when Thor tried to hush him nodding at the door where the servant boy was doubtless pressing his hands to his ears. And suddenly Thor was struck by a horrible thought he couldn’t shake off.

“What is my name?” demanded Thor, and a terribly sly look crossed Loki’s face.

“Eric?” gasped Loki and pushed against Thor. “I shall break my back if you don’t move… _mmngh…._ ”

“Say it,” said Thor.

“Balder…” said Loki, trying to pull him down for a kiss, but Thor held back, not wanting to crush his stomach.

“Loki,” he murmured, “say you know me. Say my name,” and Loki smiled up at him.

“Helblindi… Thrym… Frey….” Loki was laughing as thrashed his head from side to side, calling out louder and more obscenely as he writhed and felt his pleasure crash upon him like waves, “Balder… Theoric… Jarnsaxa… Laufey… Odin, _Odin_ , _Odin –”_

Thor covered his mouth with his hand as Loki came, hating that vile, poisonous, lying tongue, fervently wishing he could stitch up that wicked mouth so no more filth would pour out from it, and he shook with stifled rage and spent his seed.

But in his mad litany of lovers, one name did not cross Loki’s lips, its absence burned in Thor’s mind, and it wasn’t his own.

§

The next morning, in a fit of obstinacy Loki went about the house calling all the cats ‘Thor,’ which did not matter very much because the cats never came when they were called anyway. And Eric, he also called ‘Thor,’ which didn’t matter either, because Eric came whatever name he was called.

They also had teapot-Thor, and Thor-plate, Thor-chair, and inkwell-Thor, writing-desk-Thor, and bunch of Thor flowers. For elevenses, he had ‘Thor’ (Eric) fry up grotesquely large elk testicles – ‘Thor’ balls – which Loki cut up into small pieces with his knife and ate with great relish, and a ghastly red tomato plum chutney, re-christened ‘Thor’ guts on the spot.

“And what will you name the babe?” asked Thor, the real one, and Loki dropped his fork, and Eric glared daggers at him.

“Slip,” said Loki flatly, and didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day.

§

It was not as if, after that first day when Thor arrived at his doorstep, Loki never mentioned his brutish, beastly lover again. Sometimes the name slipped out. When Thor surprised him from behind and kissed the crown of his head. When Thor pleasured him with his mouth. When Loki woke up from a nap dazed, as the sunset blazed through the diamond-paned windows. The name was there, like a ghost, waiting.

And it was there when Loki stumbled in the garden and gasped in pain.

Eric helped him into a garden chair, and he breathed laboriously. He grimaced at Thor, who refused to sit and was pacing back and forth, crushing the rhododendrons. The babe had taken to kicking so fiercely, they thought it would kick its way out of his belly any day now.

“This is all your fault, of course,” said Loki blithely. Thor didn’t look at him. “If you could have just kept your hands off me.” He laughed, that tripping light-hearted sound that crept too closely to madness again. “If you weren’t so _set_ on getting me with child. Well, I hope you’re happy. I hope this baby is all that you’ve wished for –”

Thor gave him a dour look. “Is it? Is this what _you’ve_ wished for? This house, this life? This falsehood?”

“It will be the death of me, I hope you realize that.” Loki’s smile was blindingly bright, and Thor’s fingers itched to shake him. He _must_ know what he was doing, that wretch, playing at madness, playing them all like puppets.

“I hope you don’t want a second,” Loki was rambling on, “though I suppose we should try for it. An heir and a spare, as they say, though I suppose you have enough spares scattered throughout Asgard –”

“Do you pretend I’m him?” Thor cut in. The growing ire that had been smoldering inside reared its ugly head and lashed out. “When you strut about this house pretending that child is mine, do you cover my face with his? Do you pretend you are living that perfect, simple life with your lover?”

Dusk had fallen and Eric had slipped inside for a lamp and blankets. Spring evenings were chilly, dropping from warmth to sudden cold with the sun, and they were the ones Loki liked best. But Loki was staring at him now, not liking much of anything, his face gone still and child-like, and he was shaking.

“I…”

“I am _not_ Svadilfari,” grumbled Thor, and Loki raised his head slowly.

The voice that crept out of him was different, low and menacing under the lightness.

“Maybe I had to cover his face with yours,” murmured Loki. “Maybe I took him, pretending he was you because I couldn’t have you. Did you never think of that? When you left me for that perfect, perfect jotunn, and who could blame you, a hideous, _broken_ mess like me. What care you for this brat? Even if it kills me, what care you for another _brat_?” he all but shrieked.

A crash came from behind them. Eric had dropped the lamp, and Thor moved to stomp out the fire, but Loki went on, gripped in this horrible mood, trembling violently, as if caught in a trance. Or, as if he was waking from one and seeing clearly again, and what he saw terrified him.

“I can tell you don’t want this child,” said Loki viciously. “I’m not stupid, you know. I can tell you don’t love us. That was why you left, wasn’t it? You left and I was left alone, and it was cold and dark, and the wolves are circling, and the crows waiting to pluck my eyes out before I’m dead, and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt –”

“Stop this. I was mistaken. I’m sorry. Snap out of this,” Kneeling beside the chair, Thor shook him by the shoulders, but Loki went on, flailing and scratching at him as if he was being attacked.

“ – it hurt, and all were knives, knives and teeth, tearing at me, they want to see me bleed, to pay for my sins, my sins of existence, my secret, secret sin, the one I’ve kept deep inside and now it’s tearing at me, stop it, make it stop, _Svadilfari_ –”

“Eric!” roared Thor. “Send for the healers! Send for the midwife! The child is coming!”

“No!” Loki pushed him away. A pool of water was darkening underneath him. “No, keep them away. Let this happen. It’s judgment, judgment come upon me. Let it tear its way out!”

“Loki, stop, you’ll hurt yourself—”

“I did it! I did it! I killed him. I killed Svadilfari!”

Loki’s eyes were wild, but it was not under the cover of madness that had grieved Thor for months. It was worse now, as they opened to terrible awareness. The dreaded weight on Thor’s heart threatened to crush him, but Loki laughed at him, his laughter turning into a hoarse cry as he spasmed, and Thor lifted him up in his arms. “Where is the midwife? Eric!”

“No,” Loki was frantically clawing at his chest. “You have to listen. While there is still time. There might not be a later –”

“No, you will tell me later. When you and the babe are well –”

“No, you fool! Listen to me,” said Loki harshly. “You were but the tool. The hammer of the gods.” He laughed horribly as they crossed the threshold and to the bedroom. “Father allowed the blow, let it fall, yes, I know that. I am not stupid. But who guided the hammer, Thor? Who aimed its blow? Think beyond that. Who _orchestrated it all?_ Did you never ask yourself? Did you think _you_ were the one truly responsible?”

“I… of course. I did it. I….”

He heard horses, and a gabble of voices. The midwife, the healer. He thought he heard his mother’s voice ordering them to prepare and set up their station. From the bed, Loki sat up, eyes blazing, the sneer of self-hatred, twisted in pain.

“ _I_ did it, Thor. You were but our tool, a mindless weapon. How could I ever doubt I was father’s son? We are _exactly_ alike!” Loki screamed as the pain started, and a crowd filled the room with their linens and basins, their many sharp, shining instruments. He said quickly, “Listen to me, Thor. There is more. I am not mad. The madness has lifted and I remember. I _know_ what I did. _I did it!_ I crafted the spell! I made it all happen!”

Thor felt hands pushing him aside. Frigga was here, her usually calm brow furrowed in worry. “Thor, you should leave. This will not be easy. And it will not be short.”

Thor didn’t move. He only stared blindly at Loki who fought the hands upon him as pain rippled through him again, cursing and spitting, his words poisoning the air with their power. A healer moved to gag him, and Loki shoved him back.

“No!” Loki screamed. “Let me speak. Let me tell him. I did it, Thor. Did you never wonder? Did you never ask? How I could turn away from you so easily? How I could fix this broken body of mine? How I won a place for myself in Asgard? It’s all worked out nicely for me, hasn’t it? Did you never ask? Did you think it was all for _free?_ ”

Thor stared, the answer pulsing like a lump of coal in his throat. “Your first-born,” he heard a dull voice say. It was his own. It was always that, the child, the first-born. It was the traditional price. “You sacrificed your first-born, this babe. For a spell.”

“And something more,” said Loki wildly. His curses fizzled and burned the air. “Something more. Because I asked for so much. I had to give up. So much in return. And I was glad to be rid of it. It was killing me, _killing me!_ ” His eyes were blazing. “Do you understand now, you fool? I burned through it all, and offered him up, and this monster get, and _my love for you_ , all so I could rid myself of it before it killed me! So ask me now, which part of it was a falsehood, which part of it was _pretense!”_

The healers pushed him down on the bed and gagged him this time to stop the flow of curses, though it did little to dampen his screams as the pain started. Thor was pushed firmly outside and the door was closed. He walked through the house in a daze as Loki’s muffled screams filled it till it shook the walls, until he was outside where night had crept up on them, and he sat in the garden and willed the stars to rain down upon his head.

At dawn, when the screaming had subsided to a hoarser, tired-out moan, a different cry split the air, sharper and fresh as the new day, and Thor raised his head from his hands. And Loki’s curses began in earnest.

 

\-------

With that Loki was gone again.

This time he wrote out an itinerary and a point of contact, for form’s sake. He would be traveling with the goddess Freyja, searching for her lost husband Oðr. Asgard turned a blind eye to their brazen ruse. The seasons were changing, and Thor would leave for the country to spend the summer months with his son.

Freyja came to see him before she left. She was dressed in her traveling falcon skins, a large dab of crimson on each cheek and flecks of gold to signify the tears shed looking for her husband. She grinned cheekily at him. 

“All raring to go, Thor?” she asked. “Can’t wait to be reunited with the beauteous Jarnsaxa?”

Thor looked up from his packing, and made a face. “Don’t joke.”

“Sorry,” she said, “Habit.” She leaned over to examine his luggage, and pulled out something streaked in orange. “I can tell you’re not in a seducing mood. This tunic is appalling.”

“Are you sure you’re not Loki in disguise?” Thor asked. He sat down on the bed and she sat next to him, patting his large hand in comfort.

“I told Loki that if he takes my form, he’ll have the job of fending off Frey,” said Freyja. “That put him off the idea like bad fish.” She played with a feather from her cloak, plucking it out and brushing it across her nose.

“Did you kill the babe yourself, Thor?” she asked.

“Did he send you here to ask me that?”

Freyja shook her head. After a while, Thor managed to find his words, and he felt they were the wrong ones still.

“The spell,” he said, finally. “What more did he give up? More than his chance at a simple life?”

“Oh come now, Thor,” said Freyja impatiently. “You have spent too long in self-flagellation, you shoulder the blame for everything. Is the simple life something Loki ever wanted?”

“He said –”

“You,” said Freyja, sticking a finger at his chest. “You value a simple life because your heart is good and kind, and you do not see your rank as a prize. Is Loki the same? Don’t you know him better than this? I am very fond of the dear, terrible little monster, but I know that he is vain and proud, and every bit mindful of his high birth, that he thrives on adulation and pageantry. Have you seen the care he takes with his attire?”

“He loved that man,” said Thor. “He wanted a sweet, simple life. He said he was _happy_ –”

Freyja laughed, falling back on the bed and curling up with mirth.

“The happiest,” she said, panting for breath and bursting into giggles again. “The happiest day of Loki’s life, and the most horrible, was when he discovered the great Allfather Odin was his father. Because then, he became Prince of Asgard.”

Thor glared at her. “Are you saying he lied to me?” And he felt foolish for saying that out loud. “Yes, of course, he lied to me. He is Loki. So, did he love that man, or did he use him? The way he used me once….” And Thor felt one step closer to understanding.

“What is anything worth, if you do not love it?” said Freyja. “And Loki says many things, and they are many truths. Especially the lies and the contradictions. Don’t we all wish for different things on different occasions? We contain multitudes.” She stretched her arms over her head, and crawled under the covers. “I shall miss sleeping in a nice bed. I’m afraid Prince Loki will want to rough it, just to spite me. And possibly to prove something rugged and masculine about himself, after his recent ordeal.”

“Then why are you taking him with you?” Thor asked.

“Sometimes a girl just wants to be left alone, but not be alone,” said Freyja, rolling her eyes. “Frey can get so… _handsy,_ you know? Right now, Loki is swearing off sex forever. He’s sick of the whole perverted business.”

“Oh,” said Thor. “So he’s decided he’s off on a trip with the goddess of love and beauty… there’s an insult in there somewhere.”

Freyja laughed and threw pillow after pillow at him. Thor caught them out of the air, and smashed her face in them as she brought them down on his head, and rolling, she leapt out of the way to pounce on his back. A corner of a pillow caught and tore, and feathers flew up as they jumped on the bed, reverting to the children they had been, when they played together and pushed and chased without heartbreak, Thor thought.

But Freyja had been a child when she had been brought as a hostage to Asgard, and never allowed herself to think she was free from heartbreak.

Laughing, they lay on their backs as big fluffy feathers floated down on them, until they ran out of laughter, and Freyja wiped away the tears that smudged the crimson and gold on her cheeks.

“Don’t hate him too much, Thor. Don’t hate us,” said Freyja gently. “For those like us without real power, whose lives are at the mercy of others, we find what freedoms we can, and we must be watchful to protect them.”

“And so you have tied yourself down to your mysterious husband,” said Thor, “to free yourself from marriage.”

“All lies, and all truths.” The feathers melted into her copper hair and her brown speckled falcon skin, turning them shining and white. She rose and went to the window, and the feathers shifted and molded onto her warm brown skin, shimmering as she transformed. Before she took flight, she looked back at Thor, her clear eyes sparkling with the same strange intelligence, the special madness that tugged at the edges of sanity for every seiðmaðr and wove them into the broader, more infinite tapestry that was the great unknown.

“But it is cruelest when he cannot see far enough into his own trickery,” said the swan that was Freyja. “When he has lied so thoroughly and so well that he has become his own greatest dupe. This time, our Loki was just too clever for his own good. And he has paid the price out of his own heart.”

 

\--------

 

Epilogue: The Greatest Steed in the Nine Realms

 

When he returned, a rolling mist veiled the orchard, and he reached up to pluck the precious golden apples, tucking them into the crook of his arm. He bit into one as he made his way across the grounds, breathing in the mist.

A melancholy had set upon him, though as a rule he loved fall, its changing colors and harvest, and he remembered the sprig of apple blossoms Idunn had stopped him from breaking off.

 He wondered what had become of the child, the monstrous screaming thing that Frigga had had to cut out of him before it tore him to pieces. It had been a fight to the end, though she had not been forced to make the choice between them. He wondered which she would have chosen if it had come to that, and shook his head. It was a moot point now.

He leaned on the fence, staring bleakly out at nothing, not tasting the apple. He regretted nothing. He would never regret, never look back. He was above regret and doubt and loneliness. He was Loki, prince of Asgard.

If there was a well nearby, he would gladly have jumped into it this morning.

And out of the heavy mist burst forth a creature of light and air, and the hairs on the back of Loki’s neck stood up as it came charging toward him. Then, quickly changing direction, the horse turned and ran playfully away from him, showing off his steps, rolling as powerful as a storm over the wet grass, its paces and movement familiar and sure. He was that pure, blinding white shot with silver that men called ‘grey,’ but never was there a such horse as this, its graceful eight limbs moving so swiftly that it seemed as if it was moving on a cloud, if clouds could move the sky and made the heavens change shape around them. A very king of horses, a god.

And then, Loki recognized him. His son, first among monsters. This was Sleipnir, so beautiful, so strong.

Loki had always been quick to tears, moved by a song or a story or the sight of a single perfect leaf dangling against the wind, and he was not ashamed now. Sleipnir had finished showing off, and was trotting toward him, whickering, arching his tail and neck. He took after him, vain creature, and Loki laughed. Sleipnir licked at his face like a puppy, nuzzling him with his soft velvety nose. He was still very young. Loki gave him the rest of his apple, and it disappeared in a crunch, core, seeds and all.

Then, hearing a whistle on the wind, he turned and dashed toward the other end of the pasture, flicking his long silver tail at him. Farewell, not goodbye.

Someone took the spot next to him, and grabbed an apple.

“Lovely,” he muttered. “Steal all my apples, will you? Is this a family trait?”

“I’ve missed you, too, brother,” said Thor amiably. “And you stole them first. I’m just stealing them back.”

“For Asgard?” mocked Loki, and Thor nodded and raised a mighty fist. “For Asgard!” he said loudly, and across the field a gruff voice shouted back at them. “Shut up, you! You’re scaring Slip!”

Thor rolled his eyes at their father, and Loki laughed. “As if Sleipnir would shy at such a little thing as that.”

“I see father’s getting ready for that trip to Hel he’s been bragging about,” said the voice on his right. “You two,” added Balder, frowning at them. “Not again. I thought we were done with that. No more funny business. If you so much as hold hands, I shall put my eyes out.”

Loki smiled at him and immediately reached for Thor’s hand. “Who were you again?” he asked Balder sweetly, turning his bemused inquiry to Thor.

Thor shook his head. “Never saw him before in my life.”

“Balder,” Balder gritted out. “Balder the clever, the only son of Odin who remembers his brothers’ names. Or that they _are_ his brothers, despite the overwhelming evidence against it. Do you never think of your reputation?”

“All the time,” said Loki. “I keep notes. Do you think after the scandal has died down, Sigyn will have me?”

“Sigyn?” yelped Balder. “Who’s that?”

“Some healer he met,” said Thor. “Once.”

“We’re friends,” Loki insisted. “Good friends. And it was twice. I have to marry someone. You didn’t think I’d marry _you_ , did you, Thor?”

Thor shrugged off one shoulder.

“Don’t be absurd,” said Loki. “You’re my brother. What would people say?”

Thor nodded at the field, where their father was playing with Sleipnir. “And you’re worried about what people would say?”

It was Loki’s turn to shrug. “Who said I was worried? I was only wondering what they would say.”

“You two,” said Balder. “Stop it, stop it right now. I’m standing right here.”

“And who said I’d marry you?” retorted Thor, leaning in closer until his hair brushed across Loki’s forehead and their breaths mingled. “That ship has sailed, brother. I retract that promise. You’re not even half as pretty any more.”

“Thank the Nine for that,” said Loki. He had not let go of Thor’s hand. “I shall rely on my hideously fading looks to keep you away from me.”

“Father!” yelled Balder, as their lips met, and they forgot for a moment explanations or recriminations.

“Keep it indoors, idiots!” yelled Odin, and Sleipnir blew heavily through his nose and sneezed at Loki and his uncles.

“You’re not too big for a smack, young man,” grumbled Loki, and he leapt over the fence after Thor. They heard Balder clamber after them.

“Aw, Slippy, is your mommy cranky?” Odin chortled. “Come here, good boy. There’s a good boy. Who’s the best? Who’s the best? Is it Slippy? There’s a good boy.”

“Are you feeding that horse, _Idunn's apples_ , father?” demanded Balder, and Loki whirled around to give him a withering look. As did Odin.

“Yes,” said the Allfather. “And they’re coming out of _your_ share, sapling, if you don’t shape up. Come on now, Slippy. Let’s try that jump again. Aren’t you a perfect dear? Aren’t you amazing?”

And the brothers watched as the Allfather stood in the middle of the field as the mist lifted and the will’o wisp rose from the ground, looking with rapt joy as the eight-legged horse galloped in circles around him.

“He’s always bragging about that horse. To everybody. He’s never been that proud of me,” said Thor, in a glum voice. “I don’t even remember father playing with me when I was a child. I don’t think father even _likes_ me much.”

“That’s probably because Sleipnir isn’t rude to him, Thor,” said Loki, and Thor gave him a shove.

“Father didn’t even _raise_ me,” said Balder. “I was fostered away from the court. I grew up calling Thor, 'prince.'”

Loki snorted. “Hah, I grew up with Farbauti.” But his acerbic tone was tempered with a small smile.

Thor laughed at his brothers. “Father raised me,” he said simply, and Balder and Loki looked at each other and shook their heads.

Loki conceded. “You win, Thor.”

They walked back along the fence, Loki linking his arm through Thor’s as he had done many years ago when they had first met, and Balder trailing behind them to keep up, his boots sticking in the mud and making an odd slurping sound that made Loki giggle into his fist.

The wind was changing again, a chill cutting through the bright autumn sunlight, and they ate apples as they walked back to the palace, sprinkling the seeds along the way.

“Father’s always been the sort who’s more comfortable around his dogs and horses,” said Balder in a thoughtful voice. “Maybe we should be more like that.”

“Be like dogs?” asked Thor, rolling his eyes. “Great plan, brother. Wonderful. Balder the Bright indeed.”

“You know what I mean,” said Balder. “Be good and obedient and not talk back.”

Loki looked at Thor, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement.

“For love? You know better than to change yourself for love, brother.”

And they walked together, the three of them, towards the great golden throne of Asgard, their shadows long and crisscrossing over one another's, and if each held a different dream close to their hearts, a secret desire that flickered and changed and proved them wrong to themselves and betrayed each other, time and again, they did not make outward show of it, and for one bright shining moment, they were brothers, and the towers of the great city beamed down upon them. 

 

 

 

  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Freya's husband in the myths is called Oðr, and she goes looking for him. A lot.  
> * I always imagined Odin and Sleipnir as being like Gandalf and Shadowfax.
> 
> * For those of you wondering about the strange magical goings-on, we have it mapped out in [comments here](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/1508620) [and here](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/1510832). But honestly, this is just my own overblown interpretation. Please, pick and choose and ignore, whatever makes you enjoy a story more. Or, in other words: business as usual.  
>  
> 
> Thank you all so much for coming along for this ride. It was a great pleasure to write for you, and you, and you. ♥


End file.
